Please review!
Mistress-of-Misery: Well, here they do. Uru'baen used to be an elf city, didn't it? I'd hope elves are big are hygiene…or don't they get dirty? Salem's not going to get sick, though—too much fun stuff to do like saving the world.
Shadeslayer390: AAHHH! Well, it was a mistake!
I Eleniel I: We had to read Stargirl for English fest, and nobody liked it there either. We all thought it was a lousy ending how she just skips off into the sunset…oh well!
Gewher: Well, if you're desperate, don't sewers sound a lot better than death by torture:)
Luveroffanfic: Thanks! Here's chapter eighteen…
DragonMaster1992: Thanks! I'm really on a roll; I've got half of chapter nineteen done which must be something of a record for me.
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ (just to add some variety)
4/3/101
Salem drove her elbow back, hitting something hard and leathery. There was a hiss of annoyance from behind her as the grip on her mouth spun her around. "You idiot!" the man snapped.
"Connac?" Salem gasped. "What? Why—" she wrenched free of his grip, preparing to flee at the least sign of danger.
"Get away, Salem," he said softly. "The sewers branch off into two main sections of the city; there will be ten men scouring each. Take a left about sixty paces straight down; that'll take you to the slums. The sewers get more decrepit there, it's easier to hide." He looked at her seriously, somberly. "The dogs don't work here. Go to the sideways if you can, it's quieter." He was referring to the thin strip of stone that lined either end of the sewer tunnels. "Go."
Salem hesitated, then nodded, hurrying down the culvert. Connac waited until she had vanished into the side alley, then went back to his men.
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There wasn't any time for thinking or doubting. There were men behind her—it was easier to hide here, but there was still no time for such mental niceties.
Following Connac's advice, she jumped lightly onto the sideways. There were no more watery splashes, although her skirts did weigh her down somewhat. Salem took two minutes to strip off the heavy outer skirt, leaving only a light cotton shift.
That left her with the problem of the heavy skirt. It was good velvet, one of the best she owned. I hate this, she thought rebelliously. Who knew that running away would make you lose a good skirt worth nine silver crowns?
It did give her an idea, though.
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Connac led the squad down the slum sewers, his mind racing. "Spread out," he ordered. "Separate in groups of two. Staffs only; we'd skewer each other with blades in this place. Try—"
A heavy splash down a side pipe interrupted him. All heads turned to gaze sharply in the sound's direction; it came from the other side of a narrow passageway. Connac's spirits dropped as he silently cursed his clumsy sister. "Drop the staffs," he said finally, trying to speak as loud as possible to warn Salem yet not attract suspicion. "Hadyn, Marl, and Rostak, you're the smallest. Go in slowly, knives only. Now." At his nod, the three men slipped in one at a time. Turning to a soldier behind him, Connac said, "Stevans—where can she go from there?"
Stevans looked up at the ceiling, thinking. "The sewers follow the layout of the city…if that's Bircher's Road, I'd say there are four ways leading from the exit." He looked inquiringly at Connac, who nodded for him to continue. "All right," Stevans murmured, then began directing men down various passageways to pen Salem in.
They nodded and obeyed. Connac watched with a sinking heart, then jumped slightly as Stevans tapped him on the shoulder. "Sir? Are you all right?"
"Yes…" Connac said. "Yes, I'm fine." He shook his head distractedly and sighed. "Lead on, Stevans."
Stevans paused, then headed down a pipeway down the left. Connac followed him, running his thumb over the blade of his dagger.
They drew closer…Connac could hear the soft whispers of his men blending in with the slow rush of the sewer water. "Ready, sir," a soldier said softly from behind him.
Salem was trapped. They had blocked all ways in and out from Bircher's Road.
I'm sorry, Connac thought regretfully, and cried, "Now!"
Eleven soldiers ran forward, knives held at the ready to capture 'Sayris Meto'. Eleven pairs of eyes stopped and stared in confusion. The dim light played over the water, revealing a sodden velvet lump.
Clever girl! Connac cheered mentally. Salem was nowhere to be seen.
INTERMISSION! INTERMISSION! INTERMISSION! INTERMISSION! INTERMISSION! INTERMISSION! INTERMISSION! INTERMISSION! INTERMISSION! INTERMISSION! INTERMISSION! INTERMISSION!
This is where I would've finished chapter seventeen if I had had the time…oh well. This officially marks the beginning of Chapter Eighteen in Thorn and Misery…
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Dawn came.
Murtagh's eyes forced themselves open, wincing at the bright sunlight. With a groan, he sat up slowly, blinking in mild confusion. He was stiff—who wouldn't, having fallen asleep on a hard marble floor? But why—
Oh.
Memories tumbled back, bringing with them a terrible feeling of shame. Galbatorix knew now, and Murtagh was powerless to oppose him. He slumped against the marble wall, feeling sick despair flood him. You idiot, he thought bitterly to himself.
And if we are done kicking ourself now?
Murtagh growled. Stay out of this, Thorn, he said shortly. I don't need your sarcastic quips. Not today.
With a flutter of wings, Thorn landed on the balcony. It creaked alarmingly under his weight—Thorn was a dragon large enough to carry two passengers, and he was growing bigger every day. Ignoring the protesting screeches, Thorn said mildly, It wasn't your fault, you know.
I'm a direct line to Galbatorix, Murtagh said angrily. I betrayed Martaila and Neal because I can't be trusted even in my own head—
You are moping. Thorn's voice was suddenly sharp, cool. What's done is done.
So what am I supposed to do? Murtagh cried, spinning to face the red dragon. Galbatorix used my true name—I—
I knowThorn's voice contained exaggerated patience. I was in your head, if you didn't notice. In a softer tone, he added, I felt the pain, too. The shame.
Murtagh let the words sink into his mind slowly, absorbing what they meant. Finally, he said dully, And what now?
We fool, of course, Thorn answered, his voice dry. We toodle and we twiddle and we—well, you get the idea. There's always a loophole somewhere. Somehow. He cocked his head, bright red eyes fixed on Murtagh. You just need to know how to look.
I doubt there's any here, Murtagh said grimly. He staggered to his feet. He was very explicit.
Oh yeah? Give me a try. The old man was blocking it; very bad transmission. Let me hear it.
Murtagh sighed. It's a trap, he said finally. My job, apparently, is to find Salem, draw Martaila and Neal out…
Salem is what Martaila wanted, Thorn mused. Hmm. Is it the nice little brute force approach? Draw them out and capture them with soldiers? Or will Galbatorix himself be there? Brom's son and all, you've got to get a bit fancy.
No, Murtagh said bleakly. It's me. I'm supposed to do it.
Ah. Hmm. This is a very stupid plan, Thorn said, frowning slightly. Why doesn't he just swoop into the woods and grab them himself? Who cares about Salem anyway? She's just a game piece, a pretty worthless one too. The heart of Peregrine lies with Neal and Martaila…and we know where they are already. The hard part is Salem. Not anybody else.
I don't know, Murtagh said quietly. He didn't tell me why. Just said to capture her. His throat clenched strangely at the thought.
Thorn sniffed. All right, so let me get this straight. The orders are for us to get Salem and use her to take Martaila and Neal—
No, Murtagh said softly. The orders are for me to take Salem. You… He sighed. I don't know, Thorn. He wants to see you.
Thorn flinched. Me?
You.
They eyed each other for a moment, dread growing at the thought. He wouldn't separate us, Thorn voiced uncertainly. Would he?
I…I don't know.
And that's when the balcony fell down.
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Salem finally emerged out of the sewers right after sunrise. She had the uneasiest night of sleep she'd had in years, kept awake both by a stirring worry and the foul reek. Yes, she'd seen the soldiers leave, but who was to say they stayed gone?
People were awake even at this early time. Nobody could make out the royal insigna on her uniform (a black crown set on a white field above thirteen stars) since it had gotten considerably dirty, and that suited Salem just fine. She didn't need the hassle that palace servants got outside the walls.
The section of the city was unfamiliar to her. Gathering her courage, Salem stepped up to a scruffy man about her age. "Um, hello?"
He turned to face her, eyes bright and inquisitive. "Yeah? What do you want?"
His accent was terribly thick. Salem took a deep breath and plowed on. "I'm a bit lost. Could you tell me where this place is?"
He scratched his neck with a dirty hand and shrugged. "Depends on who you ask."
"All right, I'm asking you." Not a philosopher, please. She really didn't need the extra hurdle now. "Where's this place? What road?"
He gave her a cheeky grin. "This is Donnor's Alley. At least I think it is," he added reflectively. "It might be Wellspring Alley instead. Or it might be neither. Nobody's come round and properly named these roads in years."
So it could only be the slums—the roads where she grew up were always properly named and immaculately kept. Great. Half an hour of aimless wandering and she was still not out of the mudpits of the city. "I see," she said, resignation in her voice. "Well, thank you."
She'd moved about one step before she heard him speak again. "Well, do you need some help? Lass like you can't be here often if you're asking about roads."
Salem turned partially, eyeing the man with unhidden skepticism. "What kind of help?"
He raised an eyebrow. "It's dangerous here," he said mildly. "Thieves, cutthroats, rapists. Plenty of fun all around."
She grimaced, her mind spinning. Where would she go? Anywhere reputable in the city she was sure to be caught…the slums might be her only hope of staying unnoticed. But rapists! This wasn't safe, not for her, not for…
Well, would you rather prefer the relative safety of a mucky alley to the cold stone of a jail cell?
Unfair. How was she supposed to answer a question phrased that way? It was a Hobson's choice! With a sigh, she turned to him. "Well, how do you know I can trust you? You could be one of those thieves or cutthroats or rapists yourself."
He grinned slightly. "So suspicious. Well, I might, or I might not. I might just be a nice stranger who'd like to offer a helping hand. Or I could be a stalker waiting to lure woman just like you. Who knows? If you'd like to come with me, call me Gen and follow along." His grin widened, and he turned around to leave.
Salem hesitated for a fraction of a second, running her options through her head. The story was the same as it was a few minutes ago, only…
Reynold's voice flashed through her head, reassuring and tinged with a laugh. "Salem, that's what I love about you. You're so spontaneous."
She shook her head violently. My spontaneity killed you, she thought, a sob rising in her chest. Oh, Reynold.
Before she could come to her senses, she lunged forward, almost running into Gen. "I'll come," she blurted out. "Gen."
He turned around, a hint of a smile around his eyes. "What a pleasant surprise! Well, what's your name?"
His question caught her off guard. Salem fumbled for an answer. "Sa—Charis. Uh—yeah. Charis, I mean."
"Don't know your own name," he said, cocking an eyebrow. "Worst case of amnesia I've ever known. Lost, wearing a palace uniform whose scent could match a sewer rat, but wearing a good bracelet worth about two silver crown…poor folk don't have those." He shook his head. "Well, Charis, welcome to the boroughs, otherwise known as the slums to all them rich folk. Are you on the run, by any chance? Away from the law?"
She paused, eyeing him suspiciously. "Will my answer matter?"
He laughed, thumping her on the back. "Well, if I were nitpicky, without a doubt it would. But I'm not. Come on, then. It's not far from here."
Salem held back, frowning slightly. "What's not far from here?"
Gen grabbed her hand, pulling her forward. "You'll see."
Salem was starting to have some serious second (and third…and fourth…and fifth…) thoughts as Gen towed her down a series of increasingly slimy roads. When he finally tried to pull her into a shadowy tavern, Salem set her feet in and refused to budge. "Stop it," she snapped, slapping her hand free. "Where are we going? Who are you?"
He looked at her with a bland expression. "I'm Gen," he said finally. "And in this tavern, Miss Charis, is where we are going."
"How do I know you don't have some robber friends inside?" she demanded, eyes blazing.
He gave her a wry smile. "You don't. A few more steps and you'll find out, won't you? Or are you too scared?"
Salem refused to fall for his goading. "Stop that," she said sharply. "I've got common sense, is all."
"Inside," he said after a pause. "I'll tell you there."
Salem eyed the tavern doubtfully, stepping cautiously closer to eye it through the murky windows. She couldn't see anything but shadowy figures shifting about. Finally, she turned back to Gen, who was still watching her patiently. With a deep breath and some of that cursed spontaneity of hers, Salem marched to the door and flung it open.
Behind her, she felt Gen's firm hands pushing her in. Salem swallowed nervously as his touch left her back and the door shut firmly with a click. If Gen really was out to lure young idiots like her…
…she was in major trouble.
It was dark, with only a faint eerie yellow light. Salem squinted, but the shadows she had supposed were people were missing. It was completely empty.
Her head throbbed, and Salem realized with a sudden rush of nausea that it was happening again. The same thing Talinia had tried to do to her—only—the barrier crystal seemed to be blocking the touch somehow. But damn, it hurt! She grabbed her temples with her hands, trying to block down the rising edge in her stomach—
Then, as suddenly as it came, the touch disappeared. There was a soft whisper, and the lights flared on. Biting back a yelp, Salem clapped her hands over her eyes and peeked out gingerly.
Gen was in front of her, gently prying her hands away from her face. When she could see enough to focus on him, he smiled at her. Behind him, there were others, curiously looking at her.
"Welcome, Salem, to the last of the Sílica," he said.
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End of Chapter Eighteen
I have Big Plans for Gen. In case you were wondering, there is NOTHING anything remotely related to a Gen/Salem relationship. But Gen will be very important; at least I think he will. Connac has played his part; he'll fade back into the woodwork for the time being. Nothing of him for a while.
And yes, the balcony really did fall down. It's all Thorn's fault—he's getting too big, anyhow. What a mess.
Galbatorix has his reasons for wanting Salem, as will Murtagh (although he doesn't realize it yet). Look back to the riddle in chapter five; it'll (maybe) help a little. And Thorn has a job to do…which he doesn't know yet.
I sound like I have a plot, don't I? Um…I don't. But I do have a very specific idea of the climax and what will happen to the characters. I just haven't worked out the technicalities yet :)
When is Eragon scryed in Ellesméra? Does anybody know?