Chapter 1: Strangers in Carvahall

Disclaimer: I do not own Inheritance Cycle

Murtagh tied the ropes to the post and gave his faithful companion a gentle pat. He slipped inside the tavern. It was old, dusty, and most importantly, lacking in patrons. Just the way he liked it. He sat in one of the creaky chairs, keeping an eye on the two men sitting in the far right corner of the room.

The barman came over. Murtagh wondered what happened to him. The bottom half of his face was short and mashed. Most likely a childhood accident he figured. "What can I get for you?"

"Some mead," Murtagh said quietly.

The man served him the drink and left him alone. For that, Murtagh was grateful. He was always attacked with a barrage of questions when he went to a small towns. Who knows, I might just stay here for a few months. Normally he would never consider hiding somewhere so small but it was very isolated, with no signs whatsoever of the King's soldiers, and that appealed to him greatly.

It had been a few months since he had fled from the Empire, constantly on the move, always checking over his shoulder. He was feeling tired. Surely it was better to stay in one place and rest up instead of running himself into the ground. That seemed even risker. The village was just the place for him to rest up for a while. Then he could move on like he always did. He finished his drink in peace and quiet. The two patrons finished and were chatting with the barman.

It was a closely knit community, one where everyone knew everyone and they were fiercely loyal to one another. I can't stay here too long. Maybe rest for a month or so. Finally, after thinking about it for a couple of more minutes, more so because he thought he ought to rather than because he should, he decided he would stay there.

In the tiny, insignificant village called Carvahall.

The barman came over once more, "Some more mead?"

"No, I was wondering...is there an inn here? I think I may stay for some time."

"What's your name?"

"Murtagh." He cursed himself, incredulous at his stupidity. He should have used an had become complacent just thinking about hiding there, would actually living there dull his edge and rust his survival skills. The thought made him nervous. No, this village is highly unlikely to attract the King's attention. It's too close to the Spine. He convinced himself. Galbatorix avoided that place like it was the plague. Not only were his soldiers not allowed in there, the man refused to even utter the name. It's okay.

"The name's Morn. Me and my wife own this tavern." He nodded, gesturing with his hand. "This village isn't very big or special, so there's nothing but farms, this tavern, and a few other shops you'll find anywhere, even in the middle of nowhere."

Murtagh frowned.

"But, my wife had an accident a couple of days ago. You seem like a big strong lad, if you can help around, I'll let you have the room in the back and free meals. But only till my wife gets better."

"I have a horse as well. Is there anywhere for him to stay?"

"There's an empty shed behind, you can keep him there."

"Then I accept."

"Great," Morn slapped him on the back. "Go settle in. You can start tomorrow."

Murtagh woke up and for the first few seconds, he was confused. The previous day's memories came back and he sat up. The room was small and gray. There was one cot, an old table, and a small, plain closet in the corner with a broken door. He left his sword and bow and arrow under the bed before going outside.

First he made sure Tornac was okay. The shed was very, very old, had rats, and was too small. But it wasn't terrible. It was better than staying outside, at least Tornac had a roof over his head now. He grabbed a bucket before going to the hand pump and filling it with water. He went into the washroom and quickly cleaned himself up, taking a few seconds to get used to the cold temperature of the water.

Getting dressed he went to his room to see Morn standing in the doorway. He cleared his throat, causing the man to turn around. The confusion in his eyes cleared and he smiled. "Up and ready to work, I like you already."

"What do you need me to do?"

"Come." Morn led him to a room stocked with mead, ale, and beer. The place was as big as the main serving room of the tavern and filled with barrels. It was quite impressive for a small village. "I need you to separate the ale, beer, and mead. I want all the ale on the left, the mead in the middle, and the beer on the right. Each barrel is marked with A, B, or M. I'll show you which one is which."

He looked proud. Murtagh figured it had to do with the little knowledge of the runes he had.

"You'll work here in the morning, take the afternoon off, and work out front serving the patrons in the evening. Tara will leave a tray of food in your room. You can take a break when you need and eat. It's a two-week job. And you can start now."

Murtagh nodded and began.

He was leaning against the countertop, wiping a mug, feeling content. Murtagh had established a smooth routine for each day. Wake up, check on Tornac, and get ready before reorganizing the cellar. He usually took a break to eat before working for another hour. His favorite time was the afternoon. He would feed Tornac, bring his own lunch, and ride his horse around outskirts of the village. Then he'd sit out in the tree shade and eat in peace.

In the evening, he would help Morn serve the customers and clean the tables. Murtagh heard loud laughter as someone, two boys he guessed, entered. Having become familiar with the regulars, he knew it was someone else.

"Is Morn here?"

Turning around, he found himself faced with a pair of boys or, he realized, one boy and one man. The taller one was older and had a mature air about him. The younger one with brown-hair and a pair of curious brown eyes, he was not a man but close. "Morn's not here. He'll be back soon. Can I help you?"

"No, we'd like to talk to him. When will he be back?" The taller one asked.

"Two, maybe three hours."

They exchanged glances, having a silent conversation. Murtagh observed them before he spoke. "The meat will start to go bad by the time Morn gets here. Then he will not want to trade. I can get Tara if would like," he offered.

"How did you know?" The younger one asked with wide eyes.

"Your hands," Murtagh said, "I can tell from the roughness and where the callouses are that you hunt. And your bag is heavy, a couple of rabbits?"

He nodded dumbly. "Right. So, um, are you a hunter too?"

"When I need to be."

"I'm Roran Garrowsson," the older one introduced himself with a smile, "and this is my cousin, Eragon."

"Murtagh," he nodded. "Would you like me to get Tara now?"

"Yes, thank you," Roran said and watched Murtagh disappear. He turned to his cousin, who was staring at his hands.

"He seems intelligent," Eragon looked up. "I like him."

Roran rolled his eyes. "That's because he's a hunter. You're just happy to find someone to talk to about tracking game and all that."

"Do think he'll talk to me?" Eragon asked hopefully.

Murtagh reappeared with Tara. "Roran, Eragon, it's nice to see you two again. How are you?"

"We've been well. How is your back?" Roran asked.

"It still pains me, but not too bad as long as I don't strain myself. Murtagh says you're here to trade?"

"Yes ma'am," Eragon smiled. "It was a very good day. I have three rabbits left."

"Haven't had rabbit stew in a while," Tara murmured. "I'll give you half a barrel of mead. How about it?"

"Sounds like a deal," Roran nodded.

"Murtagh?" Tara turned to him, he nodded and disappeared through the back door again.

"Who is he?" Eragon asked as soon as the man in question was gone.

"Curious as always I see," she laughed. "As for your question, Murtagh came here a few days ago. He was looking for work and Morn hired him for two weeks. He's a nice young man. Does his work, doesn't complain. He's very secretive. We don't know much about him other than his name, age, and that he likes to move around."

"How old is he?"

"A year older than you, Roran, he's eighteen."

Murtagh returned, carrying the barrel and passing it on to Roran. "Thank you. Well," Roran looked to his cousin, "we should get home now."

"Take care," Eragon said before they left.

Murtagh couldn't shake the feeling he'd seen the boy before.

"That's a nice horse. What's his name?"

Murtagh sighed internally. He had known he was being followed and by whom. It had made him panic until he had realized who it was and waited patiently for Eragon to reveal himself. But he had hoped the boy would have enough courtesy not to interrupt him during lunch. Apparently not. "His name is Tornac."

"Can, can I touch him?"

"...Sure, but let him smell you first. If he likes you, great, if not, he'll kick you and break your ribs."

He hesitated at first, but Eragon was not one to back down easy. He let Tornac sniff him, and approve, before he petted the horse. "A war horse, right?" There was awe in his eyes, and admiration for the fine animal.

"Yes."

"Where did you get him? How much was he? How long have you had him? Did you raise him? What does he like to eat?"

"..."

"Sorry, didn't mean to pry," Eragon blushed.

"Why are you here?" Murtagh asked finally.

Eragon lost his shyness and sat down next to him without invitation, at east. "I just wanted to talk to someone, another hunter. The others dismiss me as a kid even though I catch more game than they do...usually."

Might as well make the most of it. I have a feeling he won't leave anytime soon and will follow me like a puppy if I leave. Reluctantly he began to talk. Within minutes his attitude changed and he actually began to enjoy himself. It wasn't until Tornac began to fidget that Murtagh realized it was getting late.

"Sorry, I forgot you had work," Eragon stood up.

"It's fine. I enjoyed our discussion," Murtagh went and climbed his horse. "I'll see you around."

Eragon and Roran entered the Seven Sheaves, laughing and chatting. They sat down in their usual place at the far left of the counter. Murtagh came to serve them. They greeted him and he nodded to them in return. With the rest of the patrons already taken care of, he talked with the cousins for a bit.

"Out of curiosity, I must ask, do you know the origin of your name?"

Eragon shook his head, "No, only that my mother chose it."

"Do you?" Roran raised an eyebrow.

"As it happens, yes."

"What does it mean?" Eragon asked eagerly.

"I don't know the meaning, but," Murtagh's lips twitched into a smile, thinking about the boy's reaction, "I do know that Eragon was the name of an elf. And not just any elf, the first Dragon Rider."

Eragon gaped, "I'm named after a Dragon Rider?"

"Why did you have to tell him that?" Roran groaned, "I'm not going to hear the end of it for weeks."

Their conversation was interrupted by a loud crash.

The place fell silent and everyone looked up. A drunken man stood above the shattered glass and overturned table. He was holding a dagger to his companion. The other man backed away in fear. "Alton, what are you doing?"

The man with the knife, Alton, yelled. "Shut up! Just shudd up. Ya stupid bastard. It was an accident. What're ye going ta do? Turn me in. I'm ya brotha!"

Roran slowly walked towards him. "Okay, just take it easy, and put the knife down."

Murtagh knew this wasn't going to end well. Alton turned on Roran. "Stay outta this! Iz our family business."

"Not when you start making it public."

"Why don't ya shudd up an chase that whore of yours!"

Eragon was barely able to stop his cousin before he got his hands around the man's neck and snapped it. Murtagh walked towards the drunken man, ignoring the idiotic knife waving. "Get out."

"Fuck you!"

Murtagh's hand shot out and caught his wrist in a tight grip and twisted it behind his back, the dagger fell. "Now, are you going to go quietly or do I have to throw you out?"

Alton struggled and cursed loudly but couldn't break free. Morn lost his patience, "Throw him out!"

"Let me go," Roran told his cousin and Eragon retracted his arms. He walked to the door. Roran smiled cheerfully, "Here, let me get the door for you."

Murtagh dragged Alton and pushed him out, the man stumbled and fell. Albem and Bardrick went out and yanked him to his feet. "We'll take him and see to it he gets punished."

His brother followed them quietly after murmuring a thank you to Murtagh and Roran. The duo turned around. Eragon grinned, "That was brilliant!"

Then the tavern broke into cheers.

Murtagh was enjoying the sun when Eragon came, a little skip in his step. It had become a regular occurrence for them to meet and talk during the afternoon. Though it had to be cut short since Roran left which meant more work between Eragon and his uncle.

"You're in a good mood today."

"It's beautiful day," Eragon pretended to shrug casually. Murtagh almost rolled his eyes at the false tone. Really, the boy was so naïve. And a terrible liar as well. Did he really think he could fool him? "I was wondering, since you knew the origin of my name...do you know anything about dragons?"

Being the son of a Dragon Rider and raised to understand the power of knowledge, of course he knew. But why did Eragon want to know? Granted he'd heard of the boy's enthusiasm for tales, but they had a storyteller in the village, didn't they? Eragon usually wanted to talk about archery and tracking game.

"Why not ask the old man?"

"He's left town for business before you came," Eragon shrugged. "So, what do you know of dragons?"

"They are intelligent, strong, and can grow very big."

But I already know that. Eragon tried to keep the frown from his face. "Any idea how long it takes before they're as big as a house?"

"Two or three seasons time."

Eragon paled. Murtagh knew something was definitely up, watching the blood drain out of the boy's face. "Are you well?"

"Y-Yeah, fine, just..." He looked like wanted to say something but stopped at the last second. "Never mind."

Panic.

That was all he felt. Idiot! Idiot! Idiot! What had he been thinking? That he could stay here and pretend Galbatorix could not find him? He should have left after revealing his name. Of course it had reached the King's ear. Murtagh was already packed since it was his last day working at the tavern.

He had been working his last shift when two strangers arrived. Thankfully, Morn went to serve them, saving Murtagh from coming face-to-face with the King's servants. There was a knock at the door. He froze, "Yes?"

Morn came in, and he didn't looked frightened. Murtagh took a small degree of comfort in that fact. "I wanted to ask a favor of you."

"What is it?" What could he want? He didn't like the wary look into the man's eyes.

"There were some strange men here and..."

Murtagh tried to keep his emotions in check, "And?"

"You're friends with Eragon, yes?"

The sudden change in topic threw him off. "I guess we are."

Morn nodded, "Could perhaps go to his farm and pass along a message?"

"What kind of message?" Murtagh's heart began to slow down as it became apparent those men weren't looking for him.

Otherwise his boss would have shown some inclination of the fact. Eragon's house is out of the village, I can pass the message, and leave through the Spine afterwards. It was the one place Galbatorix's servants wouldn't follow. And he could ask Eragon for directions before leaving. The Spine was a dangerous place and traveling through there, especially at night, was far from safe.

Now with a plan in mind, Murtagh answered calmly. "Sure, what kind of message?"

"Tell him to get rid of the stone."

Murtagh blinked, confused, "Okay."

After Morn left, he grabbed his bearings and rode Tornac to Eragon's farm. He was nearing the edge of the village when he saw two hunch backed figures and the frozen, dazed looking stature of Eragon.

Murtagh knew immediately what they were. The strangers, Eragon's questions, Morn's waring. And everything came together in his head.

He pulled out his bow and arrow and shot them both. With the element of surprise, he was able to kill them. They screeched horribly and began to rot. Eragon stared in horror and fascination. Murtagh offered him a hand, "Let's go before anyone finds us."

"Who are you? Eragon, what's going on?" Garrow asked when a stranger came in behind his nephew.

"Why did you kill them?"

"Where is it?" Murtagh ignored their questions.

"What are you—hey!" Eragon protested when Murtagh grabbed his wrist and ripped the glove off.

"What is that?" Garrow frowned at the silver oval.

"The gedwëy ignasia, it's the mark of a Dragon Rider."

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