Two updates in one week! I'm happy :)
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3/30/101
Murtagh stood on his balcony, dressed in nothing but a pair of dark pants. Reaching out, he called silently, Thorn?
The answer came instantly. Yes, I'm here, Thorn said, landing gracefully on the railing. The one and a half month old dragon already a decent size, able to carry Murtagh over short distances and too large to fit anywhere in Murtagh's quarters besides the balcony. Is something wrong? You look…distressed.
Reaching out a hand to stroke Thorn's scales, Murtagh asked quietly, Thorn, how far are you able to fly within Galbatorix's leash?
The red dragon considered it thoughtfully before saying, A couple miles, no farther the Ramr River. Why? Thinking of breaking out?
This was said in a humorless tone. Both of them, Brikijae Knívarya and Sílngr Leskulna had sworn oaths of loyalty to Galbatorix. The muscles around Murtagh's mouth tightened as he remembered the fire that had laced across his body when he had refused to initially. Thorn was quiet, remembering with him. Finally, the dragon broke the trance by nipping Murtagh gently. There's no use remembering, Thorn said mildly. Besides, you have to admit it's not all that bad. We're treated like…like…
Crazy guests of honor?
Yeah, that's about right. People tiptoe around us, but at least we're left alone by most people. And as for Galbatorix…he doesn't hurt you too much, Murtagh. He doesn't even seen you that much, as other people spar you. And Shruikan's absolutely insane, but he doesn't mean any harm to you or me. Just Galbatorix.
Murtagh accepted this with a nod before changing the subject. Do you believe in dreams, Thorn?
The red dragon scratched himself, snorting a puff of smoke outwards. He was still unable to breathe fire, but Shruikan's ministerings were working. Slowly. Well, should I? My dreams are all about eating, and I eat the next day. Does that mean they come true?
I don't know, Murtagh said. Call this a vision if you like, but I saw Arya. I told you who Arya is, right? There was something with her, somebody in the shadows. She spoke to me, Thorn—it was so real, as if I could actually reach out and touch her.
What did she say? Thorn asked, his tail whipping lazily from side to side.
It was a riddle, Murtagh admitted lightly. Actually, now that I remember, it wasn't Arya who said it. It was the creature behind her, a white bird. All the time cawing and dropping feathers all over me; I wanted to wring its scrawny neck just to get it to shut up. But then it said something that really caught my ear, Thorn. It said… Murtagh closed his eyes, remembering.
When Vrael's eye lies in fateful rest,
And jackals shimmer of ev'ry shade,
Wyrda's feet are put to the test,
And the threads be hewn by death's dark blade?
Thorn blinked his large red eyes slowly before answering. The simple answer would be to say no, I don't think there's anything to this. It would save a lot of headaches, you know. And I mean a lot. He sighed. But of course, you think there's something to this, don't you?
Of course, Murtagh said, slightly miffed. Arya spoke after that bird, Thorn. I don't remember what exactly, but it was something along the lines of…oh, I can't remember it anymore, he growled. The dream's gone.
You can remember a crazy riddle but not what the pretty elf-girl said, Thorn said teasingly.
Murtagh shoved Thorn off the windowsill. The red dragon tumbled for a few heartclenching seconds before flaring his wings, raising himself up to Murtagh's elevation. One day I will actually fall and break my neck, he declared loftily. You will be sorry then. Oh, dear me, it's almost dawn. It's time for your food, Murtagh. Try not to fall off the balcony while Daddy goes off hunting. You're a big boy now.
The red dragon propelled itself off the balcony, flitting gracefully into the woods surrounding the palace. Murtagh sighed in mock exasperation as he reentered his room. The smile that had appeared on his face rapidly disappeared as Galbatorix entered the room—as usual, not bothering to knock.
"Yes?" Murtagh asked curtly.
"Two things," Galbatorix said. "One, put on a shirt. Two, your magic training starts today."
Murtagh's gut clenched. The only one suitable to teach him magic was Galbatorix, and that meant more contact with the king. "Oh," he said finally, revulsion obvious in his voice. "I see. I already know some."
"Well, obviously not enough!" the king shouted. "If I say 'malthinae', how will you counter it?"
"Losna," Murtagh answered warily.
Galbatorix's mouth twisted into a sneer. "Well, at least you don't lie. How about…jierda!"
The word crackled with magic, slamming violently into Murtagh. He collapsed to the ground, his leg snapping easily into two, the bones jutting through skin. Murtagh cried out in pain, slumping onto the floor. Thorn!
"You see," Galbatorix said, his voice turning light and conversational, "that is what happens when you don't know magic. What I am teaching you now may well save your life later. Get up, and meet me in the dining hall. I'll heal your leg there."
The sorcerer-king left, the door thumping firmly shut behind him. Murtagh bit his lip, searching for a hold to lever himself up, gritting back waves of agony from his leg. Blood was pouring from his leg, staining the carpets. Thorn, summoned by his former cry, appeared in the balcony. Oh, damn, the dragon swore. I can't help you, Murtagh. Call for a servant, they can help you better than I.
Wait, Murtagh said weakly, his vision beginning to swim. The femoral artery…I think it's broken…
Thorn snaked an arm inside and pressed heavily down on Murtagh's leg, causing his Rider to scream in pain. Sorry, sorry, sorry! Thorn cried before releasing an ear-shattering bellow.
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The giant roars made the servants anywhere near the second floor look at each other fearfully. "That's the dragon," a servant, Reynold, whispered. "The Rider's dragon!"
"It's coming to eat us!" Whispers came back up and down the halls, becoming more and more ghastly each time. Salem traded looks with Reynold and crept down the hall. "His Majesty just went through that door," Reynold said nervously. "Maybe he's still inside…?"
Salem shuddered, touching a hand to her crystal necklace involuntarily, taking courage from its pulsing warmth. "Do you think it would hurt to ask?"
A servant appeared on the other side of the hallway, taking a hesitant step closer. "His Majesty left," Yanice said, looking anxiously at the door. "I think he's really in trouble."
"A Rider? In trouble?" Reynold shook his head. "Not possible."
"Sounds like it's the dragon who's in trouble," Yanice said darkly. "Maybe it's hungry."
Salem placed a shaking hand on the doorknob and leaned her ear against the door, listening. "Well, if it is, we'll leave, won't we?" she said to no one in particular. "It's too big to fit through the door anyway…"
She swung the door open and yelped in fear as a giant draconian head swung to glare viciously at her. Behind her, Reynold and Yanice entered with a similar reaction. "All right," Salem said in a quivering voice. "We'll leave. No problems there."
Wait! The voice made all three jump as the dragon's consciousness brushed into theirs. He needs help. Please!
"It can talk," Yanice squeaked. "It's alive!"
The dragon ignored this comment and continued. Get him down to the dining hall. Somebody tie a tourniquet around his leg, or else he's going to bleed to death. Hurry. Please!
Salem was the first to act. "All right," she said, walking forward on rubbery legs. "No problem." Taking a blanket, she wrapped it around the unconscious man's leg and pulled it tight, uncomfortably aware of the dragon's hot breath. "Help me," she appealed to Reynold and Yanice. "I can't carry him alone."
They snapped out of their funk, kneeling by him. "On the count of three," Reynold said. "One, two, three—"
Straining under the man's weight, they hoisted him up, Yanice supporting the broken leg with a grimace. As they exited the room, the dragon called out, Thank you!
None of them answered the dragon. "Heavy," Reynold grunted. "What do Riders eat all day?"
Yanice whimpered. "The blood will never come out," she said, holding the leg gingerly. "Oh…"
"Hurry," Salem replied. "Faster we go, less time for blood to drip…oh, I never want to do this again. This is so…"
"Not fun," Reynold supplied, looking sickened.
The other servants gave them a generous leeway as they made their way down the steps to the dining hall. It was hard to bow with an unconscious man bleeding in your hands, but somehow they managed to do it to King Galbatorix, who was sitting there with a bored expression on his face. "Took him bloody long enough," he sighed. "Must learn to be more punctual in life. You're dismissed."
"Was that humor?" Salem hissed as they ran up back to the second floor.
"It's very depressing," Reynold agreed. "Being a Rider makes you morbid, I guess."
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Four pages! Well, Murtagh's in this one, and so's Salem, and what you should recognize as the crazy raven, Blagden, in Ellesméra.
This all happens while Eragon is in training, but it's getting incredibly complicated…but more interesting for me to type. But this will make sense in the end, I promise. Salem does have a purpose. claps hands
How long was Eragon in Ellesméra? Does anyone know?
Please review! People who review are cool :)