I was supposed to do it days ago.
Last Night.
Now.
"The stars are as bright as God's eyes, Murtagh."
Murtagh smiled at Nasuada, who looked at him, a half-grin written on her face. They sat side-by-side, large cloaks spread out below them, covering the sand of the desert. Murtagh himself peered at the heavens. The stars were bright, blue beacon fires lit across a sea of blackness, and for a moment, Murtagh forgot who he was.
And then he remembered.
You're a fool. Either you run now, or they find out what you are and execute you.
The thought always came to him, a jarring of the mind that was so strong he felt as if he was coming down with a massive headache. Yet, he couldn't listen to his own advice.
He had grown attached.
The Dwarves were amiable, in their own quirky way.
They had a strange culture, and all of them had been surprised when the leader of the group, a dwarf named Neybark Wind, was second son of the King.
"You're a Prince?" Nasuada had said, surprised. Neybark gave them a polite smile as he gripped his reigns with six fingers.
"My eldest is a Prince. We have different rules of succession than Man or Elves. Only they who are born first lay claim to the throne. As such, my elder brother inherited the name of my father, his House, and the kingdom. Me? I was born second, and while I am higher in the social system than most commoners and even nobles, I was given only a first name."
It was Murtagh who spoke next, knowing he would hate himself for it later.
"Then how did you come to be called Wind?" he asked.
Neybark sighed as his eyes gave off a reflection of sights prettier than the sand dunes before them.
"A second born must find a profession, a Guild, if you will, before they turn the page of adulthood. If they fail to do so, they are simply conscripted into the Dwaribahem. In your tongue, it is called Dwarfbane. A training so brutal and visceral, once it is finished those admitted are dead on the inside. Their are minds wiped save for being able to do simple tasks. In return, they become great warriors, guards to the Gun-nam Gun-la, King of Sky and Stone. This practice was done to keep siblings from stealing the throne from their eldest brothers.
The Gun-nam Gun-la can also pick people inside his family to go throughout the training: One of our Kings during the first wars had all of his uncles, cousins, and brothers turned into Dwaribahem, fearing that they would come across him during his war. In a political sense, his actions were genius, as it turned out his uncles had been conspiring to rid him of his head. But still . . . a brutal life."
"If you were in the Royal Family, you live a life of constant fear." Murtagh said suddenly.
He knew how that felt, as a boy he feared his father more than any God. When the madness was set upon Morzan . . . there was no stopping him.
"Exactly. A Guild is a protection due to the fact that once you are a part of one all formal ties are cut, meaning even your relation to any family is stricken. I know I came from my father's loins, but the keeper of family records no longer does, nor does the birth-seer. My existence has been erased. Should I be mad enough to attempt to claim the throne if my brother die, I would be put to death without trial, due to the fact there being no evidence of my claim."
Nasuada covered her eyes as a gust of wind blew past. Murtagh squinted, but Neybark remained vigilant. It was only at that point that Murtagh realized that Neybark had two eyelids. One of skin, and one of a clear shell-like material that protected his pupils.
"No evidence? What of your Father? Your Mother?" She asked then.
"Once born, I was given a name. That is all. I lived in the Royal House, yes, but as a ward. All second sons and third sons and fourth sons live as I did, as wards and adopted children, despite having direct blood relations. In the records, it is written as such. An adoption, not a birth of a newborn secondson. This is done to further protect the King."
Zidda was listening intently on his own steed, opposite to Murtagh. He was like that- He would never speak unless spoken to, but took in everything. He must be amazed- In some ways, Zidda had lived better than this forsaken Prince.
"A cruel existence." Murtagh said.
"You may think so. But that is how peace is kept. Our women may bear as many as thirty offspring. How would our people fare if every new moon there was a new usurper? Or worse, a youth manipulated into open revolt due to the whisperings of a man who would instill him on the throne as a puppet leader? The girls . . . they are married off to seal political alliances, and there is always want of them. Boys . . . they have no use. No noble wants to marry his daughter to a second son. It is either the Guild or the Dwaribahem."
They plodded on for a few silent moments after that. Neybark spoke as if this was simply routine, yet Murtagh did not even know what he would do in that situation. He had come across some Dwarf traders who entered Galbatorix's court, yet this . . . The idea that it was possible for dirty merchants who haggled with the King were in fact trueborn Princes almost brought a smile to Murtagh's face.
"The Guilds are each controlled by one of the many Trade Families. There are Guilds for all types of trade that is able to be sold.
Merchant armies, traders, even those who would sell their own bodies. All of that is able to be chosen by a second son. I had always loved seeing the underground waterways fill with ships, snaking in Rharib-made tunnels as they slowly escaped from the dark earth, into the riverways and then the oceans. As such, I chose to be a Ship-bound Merchant. There can be more than one Guild with the same vocation, which leads to stiff competition between Trade Families. All this in turn leads to greater profit for the King. I came to be called Wind due to my adeptness on ship, with sails and rope. I have been wherever the sun sets, seen people and things that you would never believe. People have looked down on my kind ever since we were subjected in the wars, but now it should be the other way around. Everything you own and touch came about, in some small way, from the actions of mr, an Eharib."
Murtagh had surmised that the words Dwarib, Eharib, and Rharib were what the Dwarves called themselves once they had picked a Guild. Eharib must mean one affiliated with trading, or at the very least a ship-traversing merchant, like Neybark.
"Murtagh?" Nasuada asked, calling him from his musings of the day's journey and back into the night.
Zidda, Neybark, and the others were all sleeping, save for he and Nasuada. He did not know when they first began to speak, and what began as stiff conversation quickly flowered into something more. He lowered his eye from the sky and looked upon Nasuada's face. It was long and sharp, ebony and smooth. She had slightly slanted eyes and full lips, with a flat nose and a sharp chin. Strong jaws assisted her while she spoke, and strands of hair darker than Murtagh's own fell from her tied-up bun.
"You fell silent."
"I was . . . thinking."
"Ah. This is quite the place to lose yourself to thought. So vast, so wide and yet so closed. I always feel as if I am trapped when I cross the desert. It is worse than any prison."
"How so?" Murtagh couldn't disagree more. The desert was the epitome of freedom. Flat, save for the dunes, quiet, save for the passing desert direwolf or bandit; and it seemed to go on forever . . .
Nasuada laughed as if she was reading his mind.
"Because it goes on without end." She said with chilling finality.
"In a prison, you know your confines. Four walls and a window, if you're lucky. You know every part, every corner, every crack in the stone- But the desert . . . it goes on forever, here. Tell me, if we did not have our guides, would you not quickly become lost? How long until our food and water runs out? The desert is the worst prison because you are free.
Free to hope that over the next dune, there is a remote village rich with water. Free to think that the raiders riding up on you are actually merchants, willing to bring you home."
Nasuada's dark skin seemed to glow in the light of the stars. Her mouth contorted in a silent but contemptuous laugh.
"Baseless freedom is the prison of thought. What is a horror worse than that?"
Murtagh had no answer for her. He looked at her, wanting her yet knowing he couldn't, wanting to run, but being unable to. Nasuada cocked her head.
"Have I offended you?" She asked, her slight accent rich with music.
"No. I didn't think that there was someone who hated the so called freedom of life as much I as did."
Nasuada turned away from Murtagh, speaking to the dunes that joined them on this quiet night.
"When you are raised among the wandering tribes, you grow up hating your home."
"I hated my home." Murtagh said involuntarily, and he winced when Nasuada asked him about where he was raised. He had always evaded the question, unwilling to lie to her, or worse, be caught within one. But now, it seemed as if he had been backed into a corner.
But Murtagh was smart, and knew the best lies had ample truths hidden within them.
"I was born in the capital. Uru'baen. But not in wealth. My family was part of a quickly marginalizing middle-class, abused by the tax system."
"From Galbatorix." Nasuada said too quickly.
"No. From the corruption born from the greed of the regional Governors; they are the ones who oppress the people. Galbatorix was always kind."
"So you've met him?" She asked.
Murtagh had to summon the meager magical training he had learned from Galbatorix to keep himself from reddening.
Time for another lie.
"Somewhat . . . sometimes, he would ride through the city, talk to the young children. He would give us each a gold coin, and we would go running to buy food or toys or pairs of shoes."
Murtagh smiled then. That was the truth. Galbatorix had often taken Murtagh along with him when the King went to be with the people. Murtagh cherished those moments- seeing how Galbatorix made even the children happy reinforced the love he felt for the man.
"A good King treats his people's children." Murtagh spoke with a smile, parroting an axiom that Galbatorix had often used.
"I often wonder what the truth is. We are fighting to take back the throne from a usurper.. we support the rightful King. Yet here I am, listening to stories of the horrid King Galbatorix giving his wealth away to children." Nasuada spoke while gazing at Murtagh from the corner of her upturned eyes.
He almost told her then- almost felt that she understood. Galbatorix wasn't evil- he was thrust into a war he never wanted to fight. He was forced by honor..
Murtagh knew better than to say anything more. He deftly began to change the subject.
"of course, my father took the gold . . . but one day, it wasn't enough. Circus men came to our part of the city, telling parents that they could take children and teach them great feats and wonders. In truth, it was masked slave trade, and those who gave up their children were given 40 gold pieces. I was quickly sold. And here I am today."
Nasuada looked away from him. "I'm sorry . . ."
Murtagh brushed hair away from his eyes, smiling.
"Don't be. I could have easily been felled by sword or arrow. I am thankful for the life I have been given, despite my loathing of it." Murtagh answered.
It was then she fell upon him. Hard and strong, she pushed him down to the bristled furs of their combined cloaks, and he could feel the sand churning underneath. She kissed him heavily, her tongue slipping in and out of his mouth with savage grace. She pulled away then, undoing her hair pin, long locks falling down to the bottom of her chest.
"What are you doing? The others-"
"They will not wake. You said it true, Murtagh. This is life. Tomorrow, we could all wake to slavers at our throats. We could find ourselves waking to see the Dwarves abandoned us and took our supplies. The sky could come burning around us- But as you said," She leaned down on him, her lips brushing his ear.
"That is life. And so is this. Do you desire me?" she asked. Murtagh knew he did. He had wanted this, but he knew if he did what she wanted, there would be no turning back. He would be bound to her cause.
No.
"Yes," He rasped, and Nasuada grinned.
"Then let us experience life."