The feast began when the sun fell behind the dunes that lazily lifted themselves from the sandy ground.
Inside the Tower, King Orrin sat at his massive table, suitors and nobles and courtesans and all of the panoply of court. Murtagh's cheek itched as he looked upon his own meal, a cut of roast pork, with sweetened bread doused in butter.
Orrin sat far away, next to Nasuada and her stone-faced brother. Newcomers to the table were present as well: half-dozen dwarfs who agreed to assist in escorting Nasuada to their kingdom.
They were all a few inches over five feet, with dark hair that reached the bottom of their pointed chins. Their eyes were black, and they bore muscle-bound bodies contained in strange garb.
High collars surrounded their necks, while stone slabs covered their shoulders, underneath which simple dark fabric was found. Between their legs, which were wearing ebony leather, a white flap of cloth hung nearly to their knees. Their hands were covered by gloves and around their wrists bracelets of rock hugged heavily.
With that said, they were nowhere as interesting as Orrin's father.
Murtagh had often wondered how Orrin had claimed the throne so young, and he had been answered- Orrin's sire abdicated his claim on behalf of his son.
Murtagh could see why.
Killian Langfeld hid behind a silver mask, his blue eyes staring from two small eyeholes. However, his mask did not cover the ruin of his face entirely- His right ear was missing, simply a burned circle on the side of his head. His left ear seemed as if it had been chewed, a mangled and pink flap of flesh.
He was hairless. the top of his head and the sides of his face crawled with black veins that throbbed underneath a layer of thin and cracked skin. Murtagh did not know what had happened to the man, and frankly, he did not wish to find out. Killian Langfeld was a terror.
Orrin did not like him, plainly, but there was more. The chambermaids he had been assigned were brutalized and beaten to near death. A young boy who assisted him when the man had stumbled returned to his quarters bleeding from his palm- Killian had stabbed him through the hand, as the boy was unfit to touch a Lord.
Killian's own court followed him: some two hundred knights, two mages, and countless other servants. They seemed lively enough, save for the man's wizards.
One was old, a shaven face and a bald head. His counterpart was also bald, but younger. They both wore the same expression, however, and they both had swampy green eyes. They were given the name "The Twins."
Murtagh found them more than off-putting. They sat by Killian now, laughing and eating with the rest of them.
"You haven't touched your food." Zidda said suddenly. Murtagh had forgotten his friend was seated next to him. The dark haired youth smiled lightly, feigning happiness.
"I see that it is safe to eat. I was afraid Orrin planned to poison me." Murtagh grinned. Zidda did not return his smile.
"You should eat. He notices you. He will take it against you if you don't eat. He's dangerous."
Murtagh didn't have to be reminded. Orrin had taken to punishing him for every slight, real or imagined.
His body ached from the constant beatings.
The others around the court had taken to mistreating him as well- sensing their kings distaste for him, they shied away from Murtagh, treating him differently and often making him the end of cruel jokes.
The thought flared Murtagh's anger.
"He has turned his anger towards me for no reason other than I am better than him."
Zidda's face glowed an ominous brown in the light of the candle that stuck out from the roasted corpse of a boar that was laid beside him.
"Of that I do not doubt, but you would be best off if you did not speak such things. It will not matter- after this feast we will be on our way."
Murtagh had almost forgotten.
The feast was being thrown for him. Rather, the men chosen to lead Nasuada to the Dwarf kingdoms. They were twelve- Twelve hardy and skilled fighters that Orrin picked himself.
Murtagh was the first of the picked, and Orrin, in his pride, would not go back on his word. There was a clicking, glass against glass, and conversation died as heads turned towards the sound.
Orrin stood, shining in a tunic laced with gold, long sleeved with flared cuffs. He wore pants fashioned from soft silk. His crown shone on his head, and the jeweled sword he maimed Murtagh with hung from a black belt.
"Tonight, we gather in honor of freedom. In honor of truth, and in honor of justice." Orrin paused, his eyes lingering at no-one in particular, and then started anew.
"For too long we have suffered blunder after blunder under the heel of Galbatorix. For too long we have paid for his sins. The Gods themselves spurn his prayers, and in the deep cold of night, the mother weeps, begging for a savior.
My fellow countrymen, this land was just the beginning. With the treaty we will strike with the Dwarves, Varden territory will stretch from Surda to the edges of the homeland . . . and with that, our allies, still shackled with bonds born of treachery, will announce their intentions. My fellow Lords; those of you who left your keeps and castles to march down into this desert- I know the pain. I know that your bravery was met with death, deaths to your house and kin, pillaging of your lands. But I promise you this, you will be avenged. I have received word that the great northern House Pike has liberated Gil'ead, cutting of Galbatorix's expansion in the North. Even now, they root out Imperial loyalists and gather lesser houses to their name. The Great Houses of the East and West will join us, once the dwarves have added their strength to ours. This is our hour, this is our time, and I am your KING!" Orrin cried, and the men of the table cheered and roared, banging cups on the fine wood.
The sound hit Murtagh's ears with a crescendo of noise, and even Zidda smiled. Murtagh however remained silent, a lock of his raven-black hair falling between his eyes.
This fool has no idea what he is dealing with.
Murtagh intended to flee for home once they left. He would take Zidda with him, and then kill the Dwarves and leave Nasuada along with the rest helpless in the desert.
He had no great ill will towards them, but they were Orrin's pets, and had been aloof to his own suffering. He had not told Zidda . . . but he would, when the time was right. Orrin sat, and Killian spoke next, his voice muffled by his mask, which provided only a small square of mouth visible.
"The Langfeld line has persisted from the beginning of time. We united the mainland, fought off invasions from Elf and Dwarf and Urgal.
We helped the ancient order of the Riders and turned enemies into friends. Even now I hear that Elves run from their homeland, waiting for us to reach the Dwarves, and some others taking up space with declared houses, vowing themselves to our cause." Killian coughed. A man approached with a napkin, dabbing at the corner of his mouth.
Killian grabbed the man's arm, pulling him harshly down to the face of the table's hard surface. The man crashed against dishes and food, a splash of blood falling from the servant. Killian resumed.
"With this treaty, we sign Galbatorix's doom."
The room was silent save for a few scattered claps.
Orrin frowned, his fingers twitching. Two men came to drag the servant away from the table. Killian watched impassively, before turning to his own meal, casually rebuilding his plate.
"That was ill-done." Murtagh muttered, to no one at all. But one of the Twins looked up at him suddenly, and smiled. Murtagh averted his eyes immediately, and when he looked back again, the man had turned his attentions back to those around him.
The feast ended shortly after.
Murtagh left for the stables. His companions were with him then, Zidda among them. The Dwarves were found as well, silent and stoic.
Nasuada and Nasuadon were among the stables as well, horses being brought out before them. In the end, they each received three horses for the journey. The Dwarves had their own steeds, hardy and thick mares that they claimed would be able to carry them home and back, even from the edge of the earth.
They rode their horses out from the stables.
Orrin stood with his father, shining in the dark night. A small crowd of nobles cheered them, and Orrin stopped the party before they were off.
"Once you secure the Dwarves, we will ride for the mainland." He promised, and pressed Nasuada's thigh.
"I wish you luck here." She said, her voice deep. Nasuadon bowed his head silently.
Orrin turned his head towards Murtagh, grinning. He said nothing, but let his eyes linger on the bandage that hugged Murtagh's face.
"For Alagaesia!" He cried. The crowd clapped, cheering and laughing.
They rode from the Tower then, into the deep desert where Murtagh promised himself that they will meet their doom.