Chapter Two: Shadows

The darkness shifted around them, heavy and absolute, the only way of knowing distance and space was through the breathing of the men nearby, and the scuff of one's foot on the tunnel floors.

There were dwarves in the lead–they could apparently see well enough, but for all Murtagh knew he was walking through the underground tunnel with a bunch of armor-clad dogs.

His feet dragged with exhaustion, both from the long day of fighting and their hunt through the 'd descended into darkness hours earlier to search out the stragglers of the now-decimated Urgal army, and Murtagh felt like he might lose his mind if he didn't see some real light soon.

The dwarf in the lead had a single dwarven lantern, but it was covered, and the cranky old fellow wouldn't let so much as a crack of light through for his human companions to avoid tripping into one another. Already Murtagh had apologized to the man in front of him–Tuarth his name was–more than once.

They were heading back now, after Ajihad had determined that they'd gone far enough, routing out the enemy in this particular tunnel, and despite his exhaustion Murtagh wanted to sprint back to Farthen Dur.

Maybe he could get some food and water, and lie down somewhere soft for a few hours, before checking in with Eragon. His friend had been having a rough time of it, since the battle. The Shade had done a number on him before he'd managed to take it out, and Murtagh hated to see him in so much pain.

Murtagh had only foggy memories of the days after he'd received the scar on his own back, but he knew what that kind of pain was, and that it would be a long healing road, if they couldn't get it fixed by magic.

The dwarf in the lead called a rest, and Murtagh heard the other men sigh in relief, and immediately search for a rock or two to sit on. The lantern was uncovered and all the men passed around what water and provisions they had.

Tuarth shared a bit of cracker with Murtagh–one of the only men in the company who was openly friendly with him–and Murtagh gave his thanks, too tired to say much.

In the few minutes they had, Tuarth lay himself down on the tunnel floor with his hands on his chest, and closed his eyes. Murtagh smirked, amazed at the man, who probably could've slept in the middle of Farthen Dur while the battle was raging around him.

Murtagh was thinking about lying down himself, when he felt someone standing over him, and looked up to see Ajihad.

"Sir," He started, rising quickly. But the older man raised a hand and and said,

"At ease,"

And Murtagh lowered himself back down, as the Varden leader sat himself on the rock Tuarth had recently vacated.

"I only wanted to see how you're faring," Ajihad said, his voice calm and warm in the coolness of the tunnels. Murtagh was tense with energy now, hoping he wouldn't say the wrong thing.

"W–well. Thank you."

"Sure you'll be glad to make it back to the light," He offered, his eyes white in the darkness.

"Yes, sir."

Ajihad had taken out a knife and begun peeling an apple with it. After a moment he said,

"My daughter tells me you're an accomplished reader and man of letters," Ajihad continued, surprising Murtagh. Ajihad's daughter had been talking about him? What for?

"Uh–I–yes, sir. Good enough, I suppose."

"Good, good," The older man said, cutting another slice, "We need smart men around here."

Murtagh just nodded, unsure what to say.

"I've taken note of you during all this mess, Murtagh," Ajihad continued, his deep voice hushed in the tunnel. "You've got a masterful sword-arm and a stout heart. I value the second more than the first, but both are important for soldiers of the Varden."

Murtagh was looking at his boots, his skin tingling, hyper-aware of the grime and sweat that covered him, and the way his hair hung in strings, hyper-aware of how his breathing sounded.

"I know it was never your intention to come here," Ajihad continued in the silence, "But you've comported yourself valiantly. And if you would like to join up as a member, I will not stand in your way."

Murtagh had to raise his eyes to the man, who gazed at him frankly, without any malice or judgment.

"Sir?" Murtagh questioned, unable to quite believe it.

"Well, is that something you want?" Ajihad asked with a hint of humor. Murtagh averted his gaze again.

Was it? Did he want to throw his lot in with the Varden? For good? He'd certainly made a statement by fighting with them against the Urgals–but that could be put down to a survival instinct more than anything. If the Urgals had overwhelmed Farthen Dur, they wouldn't have chosen to spare him in his cell just because he was the son of a dead Forsworn.

Now Ajihad–the leader of the Varden and an imposing figure of a man–was offering him a place among them, to be a part of the rebellion, to fight against the Broddring Empire and Galbatorix and everything Murtagh's father had fought for.

Was that what he wanted?

"I suppose I'm not sure, sir," Murtagh admitted, scuffing his boot along the tunnel floor, "Old swordmaster of mine used to tell me… 'It's no good making decisions when a body is tired, or hungry. You'll most always end up the wrong ones.'"

Ajihad smiled.

"He sounds like a wise man. Of course I do not require an answer for you here in the tunnels, but it will have to come soon. Things will not move slowly, now that the first hammer-blow has fallen. Now that the King knows our whereabouts. All of us here must soon decide what we are willing to sacrifice."

Murtagh nodded, and kept his peace.

"I'm afraid I will have to insist that you open your mind to search, if you choose to join up," Ajihad said regretfully, and at this Murtagh tensed, instinctually checking his mental walls.

"It is, unfortunately, the only practice I have found effective in weeding out threats," The older man sighed, "but if you would prefer not to be examined by the Twins, I will give my approval to let you choose whatever magician you prefer, to do the examination," He consented, and Murtagh met his glance.

"I know they can be… intense," He murmured with a wry smile and a look over his shoulder, where the two bald magicians were sitting cross-legged with their eyes closed and their fingers pinched together, like strange crabs.

"You could even have Eragon do it, if you'd be most comfortable," Ajihad consented, and Murtagh thought this sounded alright.

He didn't like anybody peering into his thoughts, but if someone had to do it he thought he could trust Eragon, or maybe one of the dwarf magicians. He sensed he might prefer a stranger knowing all the undesirable details about him, rather than Eragon, with whom he hoped to maintain some kind of friendship.

"Think on it," Ajihad encouraged, finishing his apple and tossing the core into the darkness behind him.

"If your answer is no, then your other choice would be to swear oaths in the ancient language not to reveal any of the Varden's secrets, and go your way. If you do that, you may go with my blessing and thanks, for your service these past days."

Murtagh nodded.

"Thank you," He murmured, turning all his thoughts over in his head, wondering what path he ought now to choose.

It felt freeing to have a choice like this; two acceptable options, two paths, two steps in different directions.

His life had always been dictated–by his minders, guardians, and tutors, by the rules of life in the city and the court, by the king himself… the only decision he'd made for himself had been a desperate, terrible one. A choice between taking innocent lives and risking his own. A choice that had resulted in the death of his closest friend.

Now here was a choice he could make: to throw his lot in with the Varden, or to go find his way in the world alone, maybe head down to Surda and seek anonymity among the people there, maybe head up to the valley Eragon was always talking about—Palancar–where he could build himself a cottage and live out of the way.

He liked the idea, but it did leave him with the knowledge that he would be walking away from Eragon and Saphira, whose company he'd grown used to over their long weeks of travel.

He'd also be giving up the chance to get to know Ajihad's daughter Nasuada better; this was of small importance, of course–he'd hardly spent a few days with the girl, though they'd talked for long hours in the comfort of his cell–but the thought bothered him for some reason.

When Ajihad stood again, Murtagh knew it was time to continue their dark journey. The older man turned back to him with an outstretched hand and a smile,

"Just a little further to the light," He said warmly, pulling Murtagh to his feet.

As they fell into formation and the lead dwarf dampened his lantern, Murtagh felt the back of his neck prickle, and his ears caught a distant echo.

He turned his gaze back into the dark stretch of the tunnel, and his eyes danced with blue dots as he tried to peer into the blackness, his hand suddenly drifting to his sword…

No, no, I don't wanna see this I don't wanna be here…

A surge of panic rose in Murtagh's throat and he pulled his consciousness away from the memory.

Stop–Stop it–I don't wanna be here…

Suddenly he was losing balance, as he returned to his body in the Eldunari chamber. He shuffled back on his hands, panting for air, the memory clouding his senses like smoke, fear reaching out its shadowy grasp.

Peace, youngling, Umaroth's voice rumbled as Murtagh tried to blink away the darkness.

You are safe here. Memories cannot harm you, The old dragon encouraged.

"I–I don't want to do this," Murtagh gasped, feeling his limbs shaking and his eyes watering. Thorn came close and dropped his head near to Murtagh's, his comforting breath warm on Murtagh's cheek.

The terror you feel is in the past, Umaroth said, But it must be faced, or it will cling to you like the sucking of a leech, draining you of life.

"I c–I can't…" Murtagh breathed.

You can, Glaedr rumbled, You have faced all these horrors before. You can face them again, now, knowing that their claws cannot touch you.

A long stretch of quiet passed as Thorn pressed his head against Murtagh's, saying nothing, but sending out his quiet calming presence, like a blanket of comfort over Murtagh's shaking frame.

No one here will force you to open your mind, The red female dragon Dila'ah assured, You are free to leave if you choose. But your partner has asked us for help. And we would give it. Trust, youngling, that we who have walked the paths of pain before, can lead you safely to the other side.

Murtagh received an image of the red dragon standing over the broken body of an elf-woman, wailing her lament to the skies.

You are strong, partner of my heart, Thorn said, And I will not let you be lost in the maze of memory. Let us face this together. And be done with it.

He felt such a strong determination coming from Thorn that the feeling almost overwhelmed him. A mix of anger, will-power, confidence, and wildness. Thorn was ready to tear down the walls of a thousand citadels in order to get them back on solid ground. He was a pillar, amidst Murtagh's bog of uncertainty.

You will not drown, Thorn assured, and Murtagh knew it to his bones.

He blinked his eyes dry, sitting on the floor of the chamber and catching his breath as his heart slowed.

"Alright," He breathed, pulling himself back into sitting, and preparing himself to dive once more into the past, Thorn at his side.

They were running. The darkness was still complete, and Murtagh's feet still tripping, but they ran at a full tilt in the direction of the tunnel opening. Something was behind them; an arrow had sped out of the darkness and struck one of the dwarves in the neck.

They had all turned about face and drawn their weapons, and Murtagh's blood was pumping, but they heard the sound of growls and grunts far down the tunnel, and a distant flicker of light, and it was clear that the host bearing down upon them now was far too large for their tired company to overwhelm.

Ajihad had shouted a retreat and they all began to run, heading straight for the opening into Farthen Dur, and hoping to reach the light in time.

Now as Murtagh ran he began to see a pinprick up ahead, the first signs of the tunnel opening. He hoped the Twins were contacting Eragon with their minds, reaching out for help so that someone would be there to fight back the Urgals the moment they emerged. Murtagh didn't know how much more fighting his limbs could take.

Another arrow whizzed towards them, but fell short of its mark and clattered to the tunnel floor. Murtagh's heartbeat was loud in his head, as the light in the distance grew bigger.

"Faster!" Ajihad demanded, and they obeyed, pouring on the last bit of their strength to run towards the light.

As the tunnel opening widened, Murtagh thought through a dozen battle scenarios in his head. They would emerge, then he would turn, sword in hand, and the first Urgal's blow he would duck, then swing his hand-and-a-half sword back to hamstring the beast, and lift it to strike another.

The ground tilted upwards and no more arrows came close, and the sounds of the growls echoed only distantly in the tunnel as the light began to burn Murtagh's eyes, dim though it was compared to the sun.

When he finally burst into the massive volcanic cavern, Murtagh felt himself take a full breath of fresh air, his skin tingling. Then Ajihad called on them to turn and face the enemy, and ordered the Twins to call again for whatever reinforcements were closest.

Just before he turned to face the tunnel, Murtagh caught a glimpse of Saphira's blue shape on a ridge in the distance, watching them, as yet unawares.

Then Urgals were pouring out of the hole, and his mind was blank of all except the fight. He hamstrung the first, and ran his blade through the second, and men were shouting around him, and Urgals howled their war cries, and the clash of metal and metal and flesh on metal and flesh on flesh was deafening.

Murtagh's heart hammered and his skin buzzed and his eyes took in every detail in the blink of an eye. He saw Ajihad doing battle at the side of the lantern-carrying dwarf; he felt Tuarth fighting at his side, the man's breaths short and gasping.

Then suddenly Murtagh felt a great shape collide with his side, and he was knocked to the cavern floor, his sword flipping out of his grasp.

The Urgal was on top of him with wild yellow eyes and a raw yell. Murtagh thrashed and pushed as pain crackled from all along his side, but the brute was deadly-strong, and he'd gotten his weight on Murtagh's stomach, his hands around Murtagh's neck. .

Murtagh fumbled for the knife at his waist, pummeled the creature's head with his fist, and kicked his knees up from behind, all while blue spots danced in his vision and he felt the crushing weight of the Urgal's grip on his wind-pipe.

It was futile, and Murtagh realized it. He was going to die. This was it. He'd survived the mad dash across Alagaesia and the whole of the Battle Under Farthen Dur, and now here he was going to get his life ended by a last-minute ambush from a rogue group.

He grunted and fought, wheezing with whatever air he could squeeze through the creature's great hands and flailing his limbs at its hardened skin. His eyes searched the sky, and he saw Saphira's shape rocketing towards them, but too far, much too far.

Murtagh reached one shaking hand towards his sword–which lay three feet out of his grasp–and he felt the blanket of unconsciousness settling over him.

He had failed.

Then all at once there was a great grunt, and the pressure on his throat lifted, and Murtagh rolled to the side as the Urgal fell, and he was wheezing and sputtering, lunging for his sword before turning to see Tuarth reaching down to him.

"Up you get!" The man said, his chest heaving and his eyes wild. Murtagh took his sweat-drenched hand and began to rise.

"Thank–"

Suddenly Tuarth's head snapped sideways and Murtagh's face was splattered with the man's blood. He fell back as an Urgal charged over Tuarth's dead body and headed straight for Ajihad.

Murtagh shivered with shock as he tried to rise, watching the Varden leader defend himself in an ever-shrinking circle of allies.

Where are the reinforcements? Murtagh thought, scanning the battle for their two magicians. Why hadn't they taken out these Urgals? Surely this rogue group wasn't guarded by magic.

"Eragon!" Murtagh screamed, hunting the skies with his eyes. "Eragon!" He shouted again as he rose on shaking legs, willing the rider to hurry.

Murtagh stumbled towards Ajihad, half-conscious and dazed, his sword quivering in his arm, determined to prove the man right about what he had said.

A masterful sword-arm and a stout heart.

Murtagh forced power into his limbs as he charged, letting out a battle cry and raising his blade.

Just before he'd brought his sword down on the closest Urgal surrounding Ajihad, Murtagh felt a pressure like wave of cold water over his whole body, and his legs gave out, and his lungs emptied, and a gray curtain descended over his vision.

The last thing he saw before he sank into oblivion on the ground of the cavern, was an Urgal pulling back his blade, and driving it into Ajihad's side.

Eragon…

He pleaded, and then he knew nothing.