Sorry I didn't update last week! Serious serious serious writer's block. My life sucks. Plus, the week before finals is always worse than the actual testing itself and so, yeah.
Where was I…oh, yeah. I did tell you guys I was going to be splitting POVs, so this is now Murtagh/Salem's version of what's been going on. This is Part I, the next chapter will be Part II, and that will bring 4/3/101 officially to an end, and then we can move on.
What happens after Teleus/Gen's betrayal! You're going to have to wait another two chapters to find out:)
Lots of Murtagh/Salem stuff in this chapter! Actually, the entire chapter is Murtagh/Salem. Tell me what you think!
ReViEwEr ReSpOnSeS!
Its.Garnet.Time: Aww! I got all warm and fuzzy (and also broke a rib laughing) when your little explodey thingy rammed into my apartment and broke the window and the window pane fell down and the police arrested me for disturbing the peace and vandalism and plus I have to pay medical fees to the guy who got a concussion when my window pane fell down sixteen stories and knocked him out. The trial is set for next Friday (when finals are over…yes, even in jail finals are still here) so make sure to be there to testify for me!
Mrs Pierre Bouvier: They are the chapters on which this story will turn…THE END HAS STARTED. THE DOOM OF THE WORLD IS HERE. LYK, OMG, RUN!
Sorry. Stupidity rush. :P
Mistress-of-Misery: Traitors…well, what makes a good story is really the ability to do the unexpected, I guess…traitors just happen to be the easiest way out. I mean, J.K. Rowling had one, and even Murtagh was a traitor of sorts in Eldest…hmm. goes off into thought
Neopets kicks butt. May it live forever! Whee.
Silver sliver: Ha! Well, I'd been planning Gen's betrayal for a REALLY long time, and I was evilly pleased to find that so many people liked him. Makes it more, I don't know, impact-y I guess.
IndyJonesRocks: grins Hey, do you write Eragon fanfics? I haven't seen one of yours, but it may be just because I missed it. What're the title(s)?
I Elenial I: You never gave me a response for chappie 27! What do you think?
Arias asriel: Hmm. At this rate, maybe six chapters, max, until the Burning Plains.
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4/3/101
Earlier that day
Part I
Murtagh didn't loosen his grip on Salem's hand, and for her part, she didn't make a sound, which suited him just fine. He jabbed his sword back into his belt, stalking forward. His mind was a raging turmoil of emotions—confusion, exasperation, guilt, but really, just confusion.
Where am I supposed to take her? he thought crossly as he squinted against the afternoon sun.
That was the primary question. Galbatorix had left instructions, of course—Murtagh was to proceed directly to the palace, where Galbatorix would then take her. Or something like that. That question was solved, but only temporarily. For some reason, he felt hideously guilty.
Well, the guilt was probably because once she was in Galbatorix's hands, she would probably be tortured or something like that. Murtagh gritted his teeth as he stalked down the streets, Salem in tow. All right, he thought angrily at his conscience. He couldn't lie to himself, not now. I don't like it, it's the act of pond scum, but it's what I have to do. Self-preservation of yourself, there's nothing more important. Or have you forgotten?
His conscience poked him.
All right, he conceded, and of Thorn, too.
Another poke.
He growled at the implied message it was sending him. That's ridiculous, he snapped. I don't feel guilty because how Thorn treated her. It was her problem that she killed that man, and she deserved it for telling, that captain about us. Not—
"Watch it!"
Murtagh shook himself out of his reverie to see some a furious looking old man in front of him, wizened apples rolling around his feet. "You idiot!" the old man shrieked. "Look what you've done! My apples!"
Murtagh stared, feeling slightly dazed. The man hissed furiously at his perplexed expression, picking up an apple and pitching it with surprising strength at Murtagh. It flew in a flawless arc, bouncing off his shoulder. "Pick them up, you useless fool!" he screeched, stamping his feet.
Wordlessly, Murtagh bent down, shoveling them up one by one and imagining each to be the old man's head as he dug his nails into each apple. The old man watched with vindicative pleasure, then snapped, "Give them to me, you useless lump."
Murtagh swallowed and handed them to the old man, his face like iron and unreadable. The old man stalked off, muttering about the idiocies of youth and how children never respected their elders these days. Murtagh closed his eyes and counted to ten. Anger only served well when channeled well, and lashing out in a fury wouldn't do any good now.
He opened his eyes and looked around for Salem. She was leaning against a filthy wall, arms crossed, watching him with unholy amusement on her face. Her gaze flicked significantly to the shadow of the old man, whose muttered curses could still be heard.
She unsettled him, annoyed him. His guilt rapidly turned into full-blown irritation which he welcomed. "Come on," he snapped.
"That was a very nice thing you did," she remarked lazily. "Helping your elders to pick up apples. So glad to see you were raised properly."
"You sound like Thorn," he muttered under his breath. Loud enough for her to hear, he said sharply, "You can come willingly, or I can knock you unconscious and drag you to the palace. It's all the same to me."
She tilted her head, hazel eyes watching him. "Are you a fast runner, Murtagh?"
He was running out of patience, and showed it by drawing his sword. "Don't play games with me, Salem," he said, his voice soft and dangerous.
Her eyes hardened. "You're right, I shouldn't. Not with Galbatorix's pet, his oh-so-faithful watchdog. But that doesn't mean I should sit around and beg to be eaten, either."
"Are you coming or not?" he growled.
"If I say no?"
"Then I'll use magic to knock you unconscious and drag you to the palace."
"Magic," she said contemptuously. "How nice to know we all play fair in this world."
"Fair has nothing to do with it," Murtagh retorted in despite of himself. He let out a half-hiss, half-snarl, furious at himself for breaking his self-control. This was not the time to engage in an argument. Lunging forward, he gripped her hand, pulling her forward.
She braced her arm on the wall and kicked his bad leg. The weakened muscle bucked, dropping in a terrifying display of weakness. Murtagh swore and rolled, pushing himself up to his feet a few feet away. His sword lay flat by his side, the edge safely out of the way. "Salem," he snarled through gritted teeth, "stop."
"Or you'll what?" she replied, the anger in her voice mirroring his. "Use your filthy magic on me?"
"Yes," he snapped, following it with, "malthinae!"
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Salem gave a yelp of surprise, feeling invisible bands draw her hands and feet together, sending her sprawling. She lay face-down in the dirt, cursing the Rider with every single word she knew—and as it happened, that was a lot.
When a suitable pause has passed and the Rider hadn't made a move, she craned her neck uncomfortably backwards, squinting for a glance. He seemed to be—well, it looked like he was kneeling in the dirt, his palms braced against the dirty ground. "Oh, that's wonderful," she muttered, and in a louder voice added, "You know, you really don't have to bow to me."
He raised his head slightly to give her an evil glare, dark hair flopping into his face. "Shut up," he growled.
With a tremendous effort, he shoved himself upwards, panting slightly, leaning against the wall with his head thrown back. Finally, he said slowly, "I don't think I can carry you."
A dozen sarcastic replies leapt into her mind; with an effort, she bit them back. Finally, in her sincerest voice, she said, "I'm sorry for you."
He grunted. "Without a doubt."
A minute more of uncomfortable silence passed, then like a miracle, Salem felt the invisible bonds begin to trickle, flowing into nothingness. She pushed herself up to her feet, patting the worst of the dirt off. The Rider remained where he was, sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest, his face unnaturally pale. His eyes, though, were still hard and steady.
"And this is where I try to take off?" Salem asked, looking down at him. "And then you whip out a sword and cut me to pieces?"
He shrugged slightly. "You may if you wish," he said at length, "though I doubt if I'm in any condition to do the sword-whipping part."
"What happened to your magic?" she asked curiously. "I thought Riders were invincible or something."
"It disappeared along with my patience," he growled. "Start running, you idiot. I'll chase you later."
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Salem looked pensively at him, then turned and began walking down the street. Murtagh was prepared to let her go, prepared to chase her preferably after he'd had a good night's sleep and a decent healing. He gave a soft moan and slid down again, his weak leg beginning to pain him once more—
He stumbled to his feet, a strange, tingling force shooting through him. He recognized it instantly as the effects of Galbatorix's magic upon him, forcing him to do as he commanded. It was a strange, terrifying feeling, not being able to control how he wished to move or where he wanted to go. He lurched forward, grabbing her arm with his left hand.
She hissed with surprise, slapping him full across the face. Murtagh gave a half-strangled yelp but didn't let go, his fingers cemented around her arm. He couldn't let go, no matter how much he fought the magic. "Will you stop that?" he snarled through gritted teeth as she dug the nails of her free hand into his fingers.
"Only if you let go!" she spat into his face, jabbing a finger into his right eye. Murtagh reeled back, tears streaming, struggling against the force of command in his hand. "Just stop it!" he yelled as Salem was on him like a wild cat. "Just—get—off—"
He gathered on a last shard of strength, forcing himself to open his left eye to gain his bearings. Hooking his feet around hers, he sent her tumbling to the floor with him on top of her, both of them struggling for an advantage. Pinning her down with his legs, he forced his free hand around her throat. She froze, glaring daggers up at him.
And that's when his left hand came free.
He sighed, flexing the hand a little ruefully. Now that he had her under control, the magic would release his death grip on her arm. He released her neck and rolled off her, both of them panting like wild animals.
"I thought you said you were going to let me go," she growled, her voice a little hoarse.
He gave her a sideways glance. "I thought I was," he said tiredly, "but I can't."
"Aren't you oh-so-tired? Exhausted? What the hell was that, then?" she asked, gesturing emphatically. "For a second there, I thought you were going to rape me!"
"Rape—" Murtagh gave out a weary bark of laughter. "Believe me, Salem, you're not all that attractive. Nobody in their right mind would want to rape you."
She gave him a nasty look. "I don't know whether to be insulted or complimented."
"Take it as you want."
They sat there for a moment more, both of them in a foul mood with the other. Finally, Salem said coldly, "What now?"
"I don't know," Murtagh answered after a moment. "I can't let you go—"
"Why not?" she demanded.
"Magic…" he shrugged helplessly. "I have to follow the rules."
She didn't answer, and despite himself he looked at her, watching for a response. Salem was frowning thoughtfully, tracing a pattern in the dirt-covered streets. "What rules?" she asked slowly.
"None of your business," he snapped.
She shrugged, gazing into the distance. "Whatever. I'm just saying, you don't look in any condition to do a serious, full-blown chase, no matter what these rules are. If I take off, you'll chase me and this little episode will just repeat for the umpteenth time until we seriously injure each other. If I stay, though, you'll take me and Galbatorix will—" she didn't finish the thought, her face grave.
"So what do you want?" Murtagh asked her quietly.
Salem considered it. "Can I knock you unconscious?"
He laughed unenthusiastically. "I doubt you can, Salem."
"So what?" she snapped, anger flaring up. "So we sit here and talk until the sun goes down? Or you use your disgusting magic on me and take me by force? You tried that, it doesn't work very well. If I run, which I'm really inclined—"
"Shut up, Salem," Murtagh sighed. "Look, I'm as confused as you are. I don't know what to do either—I would let you go, but I can't. So just stop it, because I don't know what I'm supposed to do and I'm just so—"
He rubbed his eyes to cover his shock. He was rambling, going on aimlessly and pointlessly, trying to fill in gaps in conversation. What in the world was happening to him? Maybe it was the headache, or the steady ache in his leg…or maybe it was the fact that he was so tired. The healing earlier that morning (was it only that morning? It seemed so long ago…) had drained him of more energy than he had thought, leaving him as strong as an overboiled noodle.
"You sounded actually human for a second there," Salem commented softly, breaking into his agitated thoughts.
He gave her a startled glance. Her expression was unreadable as she gazed back at him calmly. He swallowed and looked away, uncomfortable.
"Will you get in trouble if I smack you unconscious and run away?" she asked quietly.
Murtagh gritted his teeth, furious at—well, everything. Furious at himself for losing control, furious at Salem for being so annoying, furious at Galbatorix for obvious reasons, and absurdly, furious at Thorn for not being there. Where are you? he thought at his dragon angrily, throwing his mind against the glass barrier. Where are you! I didn't want you in my life but now that you're gone, I find there's this great big gaping hole in me…
"That's touching," Salem said, a definite tone of cool amusement in her voice now.
"What are you talking about?" he asked, surprised. "I wasn't talking to you."
"I know," she replied lightly. "But you know, I seem to be able to pick up on strong thoughts. Like that time with your dragon…maybe you shouldn't shout so loud. Where is your pet dragon, anyway?"
"He's not my pet," Murtagh snapped before he could help himself. "He's a sentient being, smarter than you by a long shot."
"Insults," Salem said delicately. "How mature. Absolutely. The mark of distinction and prestige, that is."
She was grinning, the little git. Murtagh blew out his breath slowly. "I don't have time for this," he growled at last, his thoughts churning.
Dragging or forcing her to the palace by either magic or anything else was flat-out impossible. But maybe if he could contact the city patrol or—or if he could get the city patrol to come, maybe, maybe maybe he could deliver her to Galbatorix as per orders.
Guilt twinged at him, and he shoved it away. I don't have a choice, he snapped fiercely at it, turning his mind to the matter at hand. I have orders. What Galbatorix wants with her is his business.
He would have to get the empire's soldiers to come to him. And how to do that? Murtagh's mind raced. He needed time, and a place with more people…he turned to Salem.
"Let's just go to some inn or something, get out of the street," he said, looking her in the eye. "We have a stalemate here and maybe time will help solve it. I don't know."
She hesitated, eyes searching him carefully. "All right," she said warily. "I don't know the slums too well, though."
"Neither do I." Murtagh couldn't bring himself to meet her gaze, knowing what havoc he planned to wreck and what he planned to do in order to fulfill his orders.
Salem was still frowning, but finally she nodded, helping him up.
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Connac and his men were settling comfortably into city barrack life. The other regular patrol captain stationed at the garrison was a slim, quiet man named Adrian Healey. Healey had greeted Connac quietly, introduced Connac to his quarters quietly, and left just as quietly, never lifting his voice above a gentle murmur.
Connac hesitated. Sergeant Chandler had left with a message for the emperor not too long ago informing him of the gray seal, and somebody with royal authority should be arriving very soon. He swallowed, feeling clammy with anticipation. What if his majesty himself came?
Gods, I hope not, he thought, peering out over the parade ground. Is that them?
He quickened his pace, heading over to the gate. The riders were dismounting off their horses: a plain, army issue brown mare and a glossy black stallion, tossing its dark mane proudly. Connac swallowed, feeling incredibly nervous as his eyes slid to the riders.
"Your majesty," Sergeant Chandler said as he patted his mount gently, "this is Captain Connac Blackfire."
Connac breathed sharply out as his eyes involuntarily met the eyes of Galbatorix, the legendary Rider and emperor of all Alagaesia. He knelt, bowing his head. "Your majesty," he said softly.
Light fingers touched his shoulder, and the emperor spoke. His voice was melodic, hypnotic. "Will you serve me loyally unto death, Captain Blackfire?"
Connac nodded, mute.
"Then rise, and let ceremony be finished," Galbatorix said gently. "We will interact as men now, men who are bound by loyalty. Please stand."
Connac stood, awed beyond all belief. Finding his voice, he said shakily, "How may I serve, your majesty?"
Galbatorix smiled. "You are a military man, Captain, so let's work by military formalities. 'Sir' will do. Now, you are in charge of a full company? One hundred men?"
"Yes, your maj—sir."
"Good. Can your men assemble out here in fifteen minutes? I have a very important job for them, and you."
Connac turned to Sergeant Chandler, who was still standing there patiently, a hand on his steed's reins. "Sergeant," he said softly.
The sergeant understood and gave his mare to a nearby soldier, murmuring instructions. He then strode off to the center parade grounds, where he would call a meeting of sergeants. The sergeants would then inform their individual squads to gather.
Galbatorix watched Chandler go, his dark eyes glinting. Connac stood uneasily, groping for something to say.
"Would you like to sit down, sir?" he asked finally, and faltered as Galbatorix turned his piercing gaze onto him.
"That would be pleasant," the emperor acknowleged lightly. "We have a chase ahead of us, after all."
He smiled again, but this time the hunter—cold, vicious, calculated—broke through his calm demeanor. Connac wasn't easily frightened, but the expression on Galbatorix's face would send the bravest man to a screaming end.
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End of Chapter Twenty-Eight
Salem/Murtagh fluff! Tell me what you think! Hope I wasn't too OOC…
I'm not done yet with them…there will be one more chapter and then we'll go on.
FINALS ARE HERE! CRAP CRAP CRAP goes off into enthusiastic swearing and ranting
Oh yeah! I almost forgot. I updated Chapter Two…revamped it completely, actually. Tell me what you think in your review for this chapter or drop me an anonymous one on chapter two.