Reviews! Hahahaha!
Emerald Tiara: Oh please what? Okay, I know it wasn't the best spot, but you have to admit it's a pretty nice cliffhanger.
DragonMaster1992: Thank you. I know it's slow, but believe me, there's a lot to say. I'm drawing it out…
I Elenial I: I know…I didn't like it either, but I have to do it. The name changing thing is interesting. Have you ever read Stargirl? She changed her name a dozen times too. No reason, just thought I'd mention it.
EragonWorshiper: You do have a point, and this draft reflects it. I've tried to emphasize Salem's feelings here…let's just say she was in shock or whatever before, shall we? And the cliffhangers—there was me thinking I putting in too many…hmmmm
Randomcat23: Thanks! Salem has been getting into a heap of trouble…and I'm still not done with her adventures. This is basically an unfinished draft :)
Shadeslayer390: Sure! Next one definitely will have Murtagh. Next chapter rounds up this one, actually, and brings in Murtagh and Thorn.
Tarwen Svit-Kona: Thanks! I actually haven't figured out that part yet but it'll come to me…(I hope!)
Nicky377: Murtagh is not hot. Eragon…haven't seen him. Ooh, but I hope he is!
Gewher: I know! I hope Eragon disembowels him alive in the third book.
Mistress-of-Misery: Technicalities, technicalities :) But yeah, I guess so.
Slc11: Eragon won't show up till the Burning Plains, plus a scene where I plan for Murtagh to scry him (but fail, of course). This is a story of Murtagh and what he's been up to. But thank you!
Grey Faerie32: Six pages! This thing is six pages and I'm still not done. Whew!
Fearie: It's okay…I'm glad you reviewed anyway :)
I Elenial I (again): Not pressure! No!
Just-A-Keyblade-Master: Sure! I'll see what I can do.
Note to all readers:
This is kind of incomplete. I thought about chopping this into two parts, but I thought that I might as well give it all because this has already taken two weeks. Anyway, next chapter tells all. I didn't mean to cut it off in a cliffhanger, but that's as far as I finished it.
I still hope you like Salem after all this…I edited this particular draft A LOT. The first version had her meeting some beggar in an alley…but that was going nowhere :) So, here you are.
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4/2/101-4/3/101
Go back to your brother, the dragon said furiously, glaring furiously at her. Since you both love your king so much!
Salem felt hot, angry tears beginning to prick the corners of her eyes. If only that stupid Rider had never chanced onto her. She could've taken care of Reynold after she—she—Salem swallowed deeply, fighting down her feelings. She wouldn't cry.
Forcing on her best meaningless smile, Salem shone it at them, relaxing her demeanor. "Thank you, o Red Rider and Dragon." She straightened, the pleasant smile still in place. "I bid you goodbye, then."
Salem turned around for the city, forcing herself to loosen. She didn't know what she was going to do or where she was going to go…but she wasn't going to stay around for one moment
Once out of sight and out of view, Salem slid down to a base of a tree, her thoughts tumbling over one another without rhyme or reason. Now what? Where could she go? What—who—when—thoughts formed, broke off abruptly, and constantly circled back to a single thought—I have nowhere to go.
She did have somewhere this morning, Salem thought bitterly. Of course, she had Reynold and the palace that morning too…but the riot had happened so how longer would she have had that if she hadn't killed Reynold? But if Reynold was—
Salem swallowed deeply, fighting back tears. Reynold! He wasn't a past thing or some vague memory of a deed long past—no—he was dead—and she had killed him. The full impact of her deed sank into her, opening a reservoir of overwhelming guilt and pain. Reynold Barrickson was dead. The bastard son of the Earl Barrick, a spy, a servant in the royal palace, a—
…a friend…Salem completed dully. I…I loved him.
Salem inhaled, a deep shuddering sound as she let her tears flow. Memories flooded her mind; memories of Peregrine and Aliya and Charis and Father and Reynold. She remembered his touch, his wry humor, his searching ability to know her even better than she knew herself. She knew he had intended to betray her—but—did he have a choice?
If he loved you enough, he would have died for you, a nasty little voice said in the back of her head.
No! Salem hissed angrily at it. It was my fault he died. I overreacted.
Did you? it whispered coldly. You had no choice—it was yours or his. Self-preservation, Salem!
Abruptly, she stood. "I'm not going to argue with myself," she whispered, swiping tears away angrily. I'm going to move on. Rey—he—I did what I had to. And now I'm moving on.
Salem closed her eyes, fighting to control herself. You can cry later, she scolded herself mentally. Worry about more practical things. Like where you're going to go, for instance.
She shoved the memories back into a corner of her mind, forcing herself to focus on the situation at hand. Names flew through her mind along with haphazard destinations. Salem discarded each one; most of the names and places were unavailable or meant death at return. Uru'baen? They were after him, after all…I'm just the 'girl next to the man with sword'. Why would they stop me?
Her common sense argued passionately against it. Salem ignored it.
With a resolute step, she started walking.
The closer she got the city, the more nervous she became. She had no idea when her brother, Connac, got off duty; she didn't want to see him again. Not yet. She reached the gates and waited, a half-formed decision in her mind. The mass of people was still there despite the fact that the day was almost over, and Salem found it easy to blend in. She crouched behind a man with two large oxen, watching and waiting uncertainly for a long time. Her eyes flicked continually over the guardtowers, searching for…searching for Connac. And the evil bald man.
He wasn't there. Neither of them.
Well, can't loiter forever, she thought, making up her mind in a flash, a boldly helpless will urging her on. Straightening her back, Salem slipped her way to the front of a line, ignoring the colorful curses of the man behind her.
She spent a nerveracking couple of minutes in front of a bored soldier as he questioned her, picked his nose, wrote something down in an illegible scrawl, and waved her through. This time, nothing and nobody popped out of the shadows with a nasty sneer. When she walked away, though, she had the unsettling feeling that somebody was watching her go.
I'm paranoid, she thought uneasily after turning around for the fifth time and seeing nothing there. They were after the Rider, not me. Nobody knows Rey—he's dead. Nobody knows he's dead…or do they?
Well, she was inside Uru'baen.
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Connac Blackfire sat in the guardtowers, his head in his hands. Salem, he thought, feeling lost. What has she gotten herself into?
His head spun. Salem had appeared in his doorway, flushed red and breathless, spinning fantastic tales and begging for his help. Connac had been more than a little skeptical of the story, but the swordplay outside was real enough. Rider or not, the man couldn't get out of this fiasco alone.
"I've scattered redrash all over his face," she said breathlessly, referring to the Twin. "Connac, I know we've fought, but—but he can't get out of this alone."
He'd agreed, feeling dazed. In the end, his intervention really hadn't been needed—or had it? At the very least, he did get to see the Twin fall face flat in the dirt. The bald man was absolutely vile and deserved it full-heartedly.
He sighed, then jerked up at a knock from the door. "Come in," he called.
In came an oily-looking man, carrying in his hand a scroll. Connac rose, his expression revealing none of his uncertainty. "Darl," he greeted the first man. "What does our gracious emperor decree?"
Darl, a messenger in royal employ, raised an eyebrow. "Quite a lot," he said dryly. The voice was melodious, somber, not matching the face at all. "Most of which I believe you've bent."
Connac shrugged, unrepentant. He was one of the youngest captains in the army and had a reputation for bending the laws when needed. This should've blocked any hope for advancement, but Connac had proved his unwavering loyalty to the Empire more than once and each circumstance had ended peacefully. As a result, people tended to trust his instincts and tolerate his "behavioral oddities", as Darl had once so quaintly put it. "You've got something to say?" he inquired. "Get to it, Darl."
Darl shook his head and held out the scroll. Connac unrolled it, skimming down the lines rapidly. They did not bode well for his rash sister. "I understand," he said finally, keeping his face composed. "I'll order the guard to keep an eye out."
"That won't be necessary," Darl said softly. He turned slightly and beckoned.
Two men stumbled into the room, their hands and feet bound together, a spear prodding them forward. Connac stood, shock in his face. "Sergeant Tyra, magicker Verholm," he said sharply. Turning to Darl, he snapped, "What's the meaning of this? Release these two men!"
Darl sneered. "They have been accused of treason," he said coldly. "Insubordination—"
"Sir, sir, we didn't," Tyra protested, his voice breathy and nervous. "Verholm just—Verholm—"
"I was using the necessary and maybe didn't catch everything. I know I'm supposed to log in and everything but—" Verholm flinched as Darl raised a hand. There was already a red mark across his face from a slap.
Connac jumped forward and grabbed Darl's hand. "They are under my command," he said in a dangerous voice, "and I'll punish them as I see fit. What happened?"
Darl stared at Connac for a long time before finally nodding and referring to a gate log in his hand. "They allowed the girl—the girl—Sayris Meto, they allowed Sayris Meto to pass the gates." He laughed. "Interesting false name. They allowed her into Uru'baen." His eyes glinted, watching Connac for his reaction. "She's the girl in the decree."
Connac gave him nothing. "It seems like only mere stupidity that let her through, not treason," he said blandly. He addressed the man carrying the spear. "Corporal Henrik: Sergeant Tyra is demoted to private, and Verholm gets three days in the stocks. Tyra gets two. A week of slashed rations and forty lashes apiece." It was a severe punishment, but bearable.
He nodded, dismissing them and turning back to Darl. "That was a matter of their idiocy, but it can be corrected. I'll take a squad of men out and search the city. She's penned into Uru'baen, can't go that far."
Darl's smirk abruptly dropped, and he nodded slowly. Folding up the paper, he bowed. "Luck to you, captain."
Connac returned the sentiment, although he fervently hoped he would have anything but luck.
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Salem wandered in Uru'baen, her steps taking a haphazard route to Charis's house. She was afraid and knew it, feeling like a stinking coward—you killed somebody! Now you can't muster up your guts to visit your best friend!
She shoved the voice away furiously and stomped the last couple hundred yards to Charis's house. "Charis!" she yelled, banging on the door. "Charis Felin, come out right now!"
There was silence from the house. With a frown, Salem stepped away, examining the building. The shutters were drawn and there wasn't a single candle lit. Odd. The sun had set, after all.
Cautiously, she slipped around to the back of the house. The left back shutter didn't lock properly; she knew that from her many visits over. With a grunt, she rapped it sharply with her hand. It opened with a crack.
Bunching up her skirts in one hand, Salem climbed painstakingly over the windowsill, landing heavily in the dark house. Once up and steady, she called, "Charis?"
Silence.
Salem breathed very deeply, forcing herself to stay calm. Charis would've told her if she moved, and the last letter was…this morning, in fact. So Charis must be all right. "Charis, this isn't funny. Come out!"
She moved deeper into the house, searching for the matches that she knew Mistress Felin always kept in the kitchen. Her eyes adjusting slowly, she was able to see by the silvery moonlight that the rooms were unusually messy. Too messy for a neat freak like Mistress Felin.
"Charis?" she called again in a quiet voice, hands groping for the matches. "Charis, are you here?"
"There's nobody left," a voice said from very, very near her. "They left this afternoon."
Salem jumped, tensing instantly. "Who are you?" she said, straining to find the source of the voice. It was a deep male voice, confident and calm. Looter, probably. Come to take from the Felins, damn swine!
There was a rustle to her left. Involunatarily, Salem's hand clenched around the first hard thing she found—a good wax candle. "Where are the Felins?"
A light creak of wood as the speaker moved closer. Finally, the voice said softly, almost right into her ear, "They ran away, my dear lass…but you won't." A hand touched her back lightly, sending chills up her spine. It snaked out, preparing to wrap around her waist.
With a yell, Salem spun, smacking whoever it was squarely on the head. There was a grunt as the person fell to the ground, clenching her skirts in his hand. Salem struck again with the candlestick—being wax, the thing cracked in half. With a curse, she dropped it and stepped down, hard, onto the person's hand.
He let go with a cry. Salem stomped again just for good measure and darted for the door. She found it easily even in the dark and mess and slammed it shut as the looter blindly ran into it. He found the doorknob soon enough and shook it furiously, trying to open the door. Salem looked hastily up and down the streets—it was brighter out there, with torches illuminating the paths.
Left, right, which one was the right path? On a whim, she chose the right path and set off running. Behind her, the door popped open, but nobody followed. The looter had apparently decided to return to his thievery instead of chasing after a troublesome girl.
Salem slowed to a walk after a while. It was quiet, the sleepy silence broken only by the occasional insect chirp. Salem appreciated the silence. Now, in addition to her former troubles, Salem had another puzzle to solve—What happened to the Felins?
"Nothing good, I bet," she murmured out loud. "Poor Charis."
She walked on that way for a while, following the path with idle interest as to where the end was. It ended in the marketplace, where it pooled with other paths to create a central bazaar. Salem sighed, walking through the empty square. In the morning, it would be crammed with at least fifty different shops. Now…now it was quiet.
She selected a nice, overhanging tree and curled up awkwardly underneath it. Weariness dragged at her bones. With a sigh, she went to closed her eyes. Just a few minutes…well, maybe more…
Salem's eyes flew open, a terrible dread settling onto her bones. Danger was coming. Very fast.
Voices. Male voices, whispering softly. She couldn't hear the words, but she knew with a unrelenting clarity what the voices were talking about—her.
A dog's eager bark sounded. Salem hissed softly—dogs meant scent-tracking, meant an inability to hide through sight. Water, she decided. Somewhere with water—
The closest water was the public fountain, and that wasn't exactly a smart idea. The closest running water was the Ramr, and that was definitely too far! She was going to die here because she couldn't figure out how to outsmart a dog, a four-legged little monster with a better sense of smell than it deserved—
Sewers!
EW! Salem recoiled from the thought. Sewers were filled with waste, with filth, with—with—well, who knew? It was absolutely insane and—and—
Oh, it's my only chance, Salem thought miserably. You worked with what you had, and she happened to have sewers. Or I know where they are, anyway. But…
But nothing. With a miserable sigh, Salem crawled out of her hiding spot, careful to stay to the shadows. There was a grate a few feet away, she'd be down in no time.
"ARFARFARAFARAFARAFARF!"
"There! There she is! Go! GO! Get her! Cut her off—"
Salem tore at the grate with clumsy fingers, her brain burning with a single thought—Get inside! NOWNOWNOW!
She practically dropped inside two seconds before the first dog reached the grate. It howled with frustration, then proceeded to bark canine insults at her. Salem didn't wait, hurtling down the passageways. Left! Right! No, left! Well, she didn't know where she was going anyway!
The smell was nauseating. Salem nearly cried with disgust as the water level rose further in, sending mud and—and—liquid and dung past her legs, soaking into her socks and skirts. At least she couldn't hear the men anymore; the only sound was the slow drip of—stuff—coming down from the slimy ceiling.
She was so intent on walking carefully through the muck that she didn't notice the figure in front of her. "Ah—" Salem yelped before a rough hand sealed her mouth shut.
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I did not write that cliffhanger on purpose. I swear! It's just where I happened to end…
Is the writing style getting a bit thick? I think so, but I'm my worst critic. Suggestions?
Read and Review!