Reviews! You guys totally rock my socks. I got SO MANY reviews this time! Thank you all!
My reviewer responses for this chapter filled about 1 1/2 pages, so I'm shifting it to the end of this chapter so that the people who want to actually read the chapter don't have to sift through lines and lines of text. :o
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4/4/101
Early dawn
Ides felt the rough hand on his arm, jerking him awake. His eyes flew open, startled out of sleep. "What—" he said hoarsely, before fear clamped his throat tight.
"Come," a guard snapped, unlocking his chains. Two others surrounded him, gripping his shoulder. "The emperor wants you."
"No," Ides whispered, his voice ragged. "I—"
The guard ignored him, carrying a whispered conversation with another soldier. He waved his hand idly at the other guards, motioning for them to carry on.
Terror paralyzed him, making it impossible for him to walk, let alone attempt escape. Memories flashed through his mind, dark and vivid, memories of his last journey through the dungeons.
Gods, he thought frantically, calling up every single god and goddess he knew. Whoever's listening, he thought feverishly, don't—
The slam of a grate brought him back to earth. Nothing short of a miracle could get him out now.
The guard ahead of them picked out a long iron key, unlocking a barred door. One of them gave Ides a shove, forcing him in.
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Later—Morning
Neal was already up and awake by the time Martaila staggered out of the cave they were using for shelter. "Good morning, Marta," he said, not bothering to look up.
"What's going on?" she rasped, rubbing her eyes. "Where's Reya?"
"Reya decided that she would go for a nice walk back to civilization, and leave us uncouth barbarians behind," Neal said cheerfully, straightening up from his fire. There was a smudge of soot on his nose, but he ignored it as he dug through their packs. "We are far too rough for her delicate lady tastes."
Martaila put her arms on her hips, glaring at him. "Neal. Where is she?"
He did look at her now, grinning. "You are the paragon of female beauty, Auntie," he said, green eyes flicking mischievously up and down. "Your gray hair, so lustrous and silky, your fair dark eyes, containing pools of hidden depth that no mortal man can penetrate. I fall down to my knees in awe."
"Neaal…" Martaila grated. She was not a morning person in the least, and she was aware of it. "Where is she?"
He waved a hand airily. "In the cave. I'm surprised you didn't trip over her, actually. She's still asleep."
Martaila sighed, stretched, and then stalked over to the cave. Sure enough, Reya was inside, sleeping fitfully. "Reya," Martaila murmured, nudging her lightly. "Wake up."
The maid opened bleary eyes, looking distinctly unhappy. Finally, in a small voice she said, "I don't want to."
"Reya, my dear, we can't stay here," Martaila said quietly. "We'll have to leave soon, set up life somewhere else."
Reya sniffed and rubbed a tear out of her eye. "I don't like this," she muttered. "Why didn't you tell me, my lady? No disrespect meant, but I—" her lip quivered. "I don't want to die!"
Martaila sighed again, wiping a thumb gently under Reya's eye. "There's no need for melodramatics. We are not going to die. I promise you."
Reya sighed, sagging. "Really?" she asked, sounding like a little girl. "What'll happen to us, my lady?"
Martaila didn't answer, rubbing the rough stone of the cave idly with her finger. "Go back to sleep, Reya," she said at last. "I'll wake you up when breakfast is ready."
The maid nodded, huddling deeper within her cocoon of blankets. Martaila groaned and rubbed a hand over her own eyes before stalking out to where Neal still sat, poking the fire.
"I can go hunt if you watch over this," Neal said, glancing at her. "Shouldn't take too long."
"No, not here," Martaila grunted, sitting down heavily. "We're too close to Uru'baen. Better make do with our stores."
Neal shrugged. It was a cool morning, light and brisk for a late spring day, and there was enough of a wind to feel uncomfortable. "Well, where'll we go?" he asked, warming his hands by the fire. "Gil'ead? Teirm? Surda?"
Martaila tapped her chin with a thoughtful finger, thinking. "You know, Neal, we might go to Kuasta."
"Kuasta?" Neal looked up with a skeptical expression on his face. "What about that?"
"My mother is from Kuasta," Martaila explained. "They're Kuasta bred and born, until Mother broke the line by running away to Uru'baen. Didn't I tell you? Anyway, it's remote, out there, and it's also hidden behind mountains."
Neal looked dubious. "Wouldn't it be safer to go to Surda? Or to the Varden?"
"If we can find them at all," Martaila pointed out. "Gods know where they are. Hidden somewhere in the Beor Mountains, I expect."
"Still, isn't Kuasta in the empire—"
Neal stopped halfway, staring intently at a necklace that hung around Martaila's neck. In a hushed voice, he said, "Martaila? What is that thing—"
Martaila felt at her neck, jerking the necklace off. She stared at it intently, eyes half-slitted in concentration. The normally clear crystal hanging at the end had a raging maelstrom of colors with it, shifting with a strange, pulsing brilliance.
"What?" Neal said softly, his voice hushed with awe. "But who of Silica is left to contact you?" he asked quietly, voicing the question Martaila had. "Only a magicker can do that…"
"Only Henrides Miyan is left," Martaila said with a frown, staring intently into the crystal. "But why…?"
She tapped it with a finger, speaking the receiving words. "Eka kaenave sor fesl, cair son eka thrystan hljodhr." I hear and accept, and may our conversation be kept in silence.
The image darkened momentarily, then flared into life. Ides's face swam into view. Martaila frowned down at him, puzzled. "What is it, Miyan?" she asked slowly.
The magicker seemed harried, occupied. "There's been trouble, lady," he said, his eyes anxious. "You have to come back, Martaila, at once. Bring Peregrine with you."
"Why?" Neal asked, moving alongside her, peering into the crystal.
"I can't answer your question now, there's no time," Ides said, looking frantic, shaking his head. "Just come—to the the woods—where we hid you before—no—"
He broke off abruptly, his face twisted as if in pain. The colors muddied, distorted, and faded into darkness.
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Inside his cell, Ides dropped, gasping weakly as the heat blazing through his chest twisted once, violently, then faded. He turned his head, curling up, retching until his stomach could bring up no more.
"Now really, Ides," Galbatorix admonished in a voice of mocking kindness. "It wasn't that bad, was it? So easy. It took all of five minutes, once you stopped fighting me."
Ides couldn't answer, his body pulsing with echoes of the blazing inner fire of torture. Finally, in a choked, desperate voice, he said, "She won't fall for it."
"Are you so certain of that?" Galbatorix purred. "Interesting devices, these necklaces. You little children at Silica have done so much to make them tamper-proof. They tear apart any illusion I've tried to build, require the ancient language to be activated, and are almost completely indestructible…"
He leaned forward. "But I'll tell you something. A chain is only as strong as its weakest link…and you, dear boy, are the weakest link. You held out for two hours…I must say, I am impressed. But you can't hope to withstand me. Not that I'm boasting, of course."
Galbatorix straightened, nodding to the guards. "Take him back to the cell, would you?"
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Martaila fingered the crystal thoughtfully, a pensive expression on her face. "That didn't sound like Miyan," she said slowly.
"He looked like he—he wanted to tell you something else," Neal put in, frowning. "Maybe it's a trick?"
"That's impossible," Martaila said, shaking her head. "If you knew just how much blasted effort was put into these necklaces to make them completely hack-proof, you wouldn't say that…and there's no way, absolutely none, that Miyan would…" she hesitated. "If he had a choice, I'm sure he would've chosen death over betrayal."
Neal's eyes watched her, darkening slightly. "What if he was tortured like Jacob was?" he inquired softly. "Jacob's torture was public…if Miyan was put under something like that, if you were put under something like that—"
"I'd break," Martaila finished, feeling a dull weight settle upon her shoulders.
She sighed. "What do you think we should do, Neal?"
He shrugged. "It looks like a trap. Every single word was hard for him to say, you know? Something's not right about it."
Martaila shook her head slowly. "Our last hiding spot is crawling with soldiers. I have to agree…something's not right. On the other hand, perhaps that is the only specific meeting he knew. I don't know. I think that Miyan and Silica are in trouble, though. That part is true. What kind of trouble, I don't know."
She straightened with a sigh, looking directly at Neal. "Miyan was a good friend to me, Neal. If he's in trouble, I'm not going to leave him to rot. I'll do as he said, but…"
"Be careful," Neal said slowly. He was silent for a moment, then looked up at her. "Well, let's go then."
Martaila glanced at him, incredulous. "You're not coming, Neal."
He smiled derisively at her. "What, because I'm too valuable to be risked? I don't believe that, Martaila. Even if I am 'too valuable', so what? Silica is gone. What am I supposed to do, sit around like a good lapdog for a nonexistent hope?"
"Neal—" Martaila began, already knowing it was useless. They locked gazes, contesting each other silently.
Martaila looked away first. He was eighteen now, and could no longer be intimidated by her nastiest glare. It must itch him to be doing nothing on the sidelines, safely tucked away while his peers die one by one, she thought sadly.
"Fine," she said at last. "What about Reya, though?"
"You should've dumped her back in Uru'baen," Neal said, shaking his head. "All she does is whine and weep."
"You should be kinder to her," Martaila snapped back.
"I was," Neal said coolly. "Until she started calling me a bastard conceived in wine and clawed out of some street slut."
"Reya—" Martaila began before realizing it was useless again. Reya and Neal had never got along, with Reya commenting spitefully on Neal's shadowy origins, and Neal sniping coldly at her delicate ladylike ways.
"Whatever," she finally said, exasperated. "I'll ask her to stay here for the time being, is that all right with you?"
Neal grinned at the frazzled look on her face. "Of course. Thank you, Marta."
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The cell door slammed open with a colossal bang, sending wisps of hay flying. Salem and Murtagh both rose, watching the doorway warily.
"Connac?" Salem breathed, staring at the soldier who entered, searching for his face.
The light played over the soldier's face, and the features were too sharp, the jaw too squared to be Connac. The unknown man turned to Murtagh, a look of slight apology on his face. "Our mistake, sir," he said, his voice deep and reverbrating. "Sergeant Chandler was a bit overeager yesterday. We have gotten orders for your release."
"Me—?" Murtagh said, glancing quickly at Salem. "How?"
"Orders from the emperor," the soldier said with a deep bow. "We apologize, sir," he said. "You are free to go."
"What about her?" Murtagh said, pointing at Salem.
The soldier shrugged. "We have received no orders concerning her. She will kept until further notice."
"And that means…?" Salem said faintly.
"Until we receive instruction," the soldier declared, not unkindly but also firmly. He nodded to Murtagh. "Please step out of the cell."
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End of Chapter Thirty-One
I always feel kind of guilty when I don't give Murtagh his fair due, but he had the last three chapters all to himself (and Salem), so I'd thought I'd update on everybody else first.
The end is seriously near now. I'm betting 6 chappies max, and ending in four if lucky. Or unlucky. Who knows?
And here are your promised responses :)
Alsdssg: Ha! Well, sticking all my main characters in jail is my proudest accomplishment, lol! Well, it IS called Thorn and MISERY. :P
ChatterPuncher: Why, thank you! Yes, it is Galbatorix, the evil git. :growl:
DragonRider2000: Hrrm. In answer to your question, you have to remember that Murtagh is very tired. He couldn't even use a simple malthinae spell to keep Salem immobile, so I doubt he could summon up anything fancy like brisingr or jierda or whatever. Also, he's cross and not thinking too rationally…which is why he didn't show his gedwey ignasia. The soldiers probably wouldn't have recognized it even if he had. Remember, Riders have been gone for a long time, and all that are left are myths about the oh-so-powerful Galbytorix.
Fallonaiya Sedai: Hah! Mom likes to tell this horror story about a thunderstorm and how it completely FRIED her friend's computer black. I think it's hilarious, actually, but she believes in it. Well, to each their own.
Salem beat Murtagh up? Nooooooo! Salem, you're supposed to be falling in love with him! Don't beat him up! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!
Murtagh: She couldn't beat me up anyway. But kissing? Isn't that going a little too far?
Salem: (to Murtagh) Oh yeah? You want to have a go at it? We'll see who beats up who. (to me) Are you insane?
Me: Noo…:sniff: Just a romantic.
It is remarkable how the path of love is so similar to the path of insanityThe Merogivian (or whatever, it's a quote from the Matrix Revolution or something like that…I love that trilogy!)
Tarwen Svit-Kona: Yes, I consider chappie 30 the hardest chapter to write in this whole fanfic. You will not believe how long I slaved over the stupid thing. Thank you for your encouragement :)
Silver sliver: AH-HA! There you are! I was wondering just a bit when you didn't pop up…you made me cry for a second there! And thank you, it DID take me a really long time to write after all…don't you just adore Murtagh/Salem fluff? They are so capably sarcastic together. My only worry is that they're a little bit too ooc.
Useless: Interesting penname. Thank you!
Aurora: I'm not going to do a Thorn scene yet, it doesn't fit in with the mainstream plot. They (Thorn and Murtagh) will have a couple scenes together before the Burning Plains, but it might not be what you expect. :dramatic music playing:
Its.Garnet.Time: Actually, I think the pigeons died in the typhoon, which makes me kind of relieved and also kind of sad at the same time because I liked having an excuse to wave a broom out a window. I mean, I live sixteen stories up, how often do you get to do that? Any other time my sister would scream at me to stop hanging out the window! but she hates the pigeons just as much as I do. But now they're gone, and I miss their obnoxious cooing.
Super Annie slurring up the fanfic? Nah, Super Annie is not allowed to write fanfics, because all Super Annie is good for is hijacking other people's articles and messing them up. Writing fanfics is the job of my lazy good-for-nothing muses, urged on by The Evil Cockroach that lives in my head. Me (normal me) comes when the chapter is done and does the review responses, then goes and posts it on the net. And then AFTER that…I have too many alternate identities…it's hard to keep track of them all.
Gewher: Aw, that is SO sweet:) Yes, guys are definitely like that. I knew this guy once…oh, man, it's not like he was THAT cute but one look and I'd start to feel all soppy. And then when he—yeah, you probably get the idea, don't you. :sigh:
I have a pretty definite idea of where this plot is going to go by now, but suggestions are welcome! Prepare for a raid on your brain very soon, conducted by the hypnotic rays that are emanating out of your computer screen as you read this. Bwahahaa.
Mrs Pierre Bouvier: Well, it seems to me that the more effort I jam into chapters the better they turn out. It took me less than two hours to complete this chapter, and I'm rather dissatisfied with it. Oh, well.
Mistress-of-Misery! He's 19? Where'd you get that? We know that Murtagh is a couple years older than Eragon, and Eragon is about 17/18ish by the time the Burning Plains rolls around…hm, hm. Oh, well. I guess I could twiddle it a bit, all in the name of artistic license!