RR's are up here today just cuz I feel like it. Hah.
Rock Not War: Another procrastinator! Glad to see you've joined our ranks :)
Fallonaiya Sedai: O.o Sugar rush? Sounds like it...glad you're tensed up. May I release your tension with this –cough- vunderful chappie?
Gewher: -giggles- Yeah, that Pierce line is my tribute to the Awesomeness of Tamora Pierce. –bows down- I love her stuff!
-runs from pitchfork- Don't kill me! Come on, the frickin' genre of this thing is tragedy. Or it should be, anyway. So it's supposed to be depressing!
Aurora: I don't know. Connac…he's not really, what's the word, obsessed with his sister or anything. I mean, he hasn't seen her for years, she pops up, they spend a total of maybe thirty minutes in each other's company, and then Salem zips outta his life again. Connac's got bigger things to worry about, don't you think?
Mrs Pierre Bouvier: -blushes- Well, I account my wonderful success to my unyielding patience and iron will. –rereads sentence and cracks up- Ha! Actually, a nagging conscience would be more accurate.
Tallacus: Meh, when you're desperate you can't exactly be choosy, can you? Anyway, Galbatorix would still have to overcome that hurdle of finding the people the eggs would hatch for anyway.
Coffee Grounds: Hahaha, your skit made me crack up. CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES! LE GASP! MINE!
Ariel32: You know, from Galbatorix's army's point of view, I guess the Varden would be sighted as evil. It's all a matter of perspective, really…the envoy was an enemy. The enemy died. Hooray and whoopee. Wouldn't you be happy?
Amantine: This fic is done anyways :) I THINK –emphasis on think- I can post the last screwy random stuff chappie on Monday or something like that. We'll have to see.
Emerald Tiara: Nah, the poisoner was Angela. Mister Quartermaster guy, however, as he is based after my much-loved math teacher HACK COUGH NOT! would be a pretty nice candidate, though.
Blindseer220: Thanks! Hey, wait, did you just start reading this fic?
Lyokolady: For some mysterious reason I keep typing your penname as 'lykolady'. Is there a character out there named lyoko or something or is your penname just completely random? Curious, you see. –blink blink-
Its.Garnet.Time: Glad you think so. When I typed up this chappie some of my prejudice against Wussypants Eragon got sapped into this chapter. Yeah, I'm evil.
Mistress-of-Misery: In the end, we're all dead men! If you find yourself in the fields with the wind blowing on your face, do not be afraid! Because you are in Elysium, and you're already dead!
Yay Gladiator! Sorry, I'm going through this total Gladiator obsession. AWESOME MOVIE! Whee! What fun :)
K.A.T. Hiwatari: The answers to your questions: Yes, maybe, you'll see, DEFINITELY YES, cuz CP wouldn't let them (meanie), NEVAR, and see previous answer :)
You really thought that? My, you're quite intuitive! –grins-
And no cookies? I'm sad. –starts to cry-
Alsdssg: 'Authoress'. –rolls word around in mouth- I like that! It makes me think of a full moon and Morgan le Fay for some reason. You know, magic and sparkly blue wands and crap like that.
Gah, you picked up on that? I should really stop sticking hints in before the BBS (big bad secret) is revealed. It ruins the suspense!
DeerShifter: It was either poison or die in battle, and I'm dead lazy so I wanted to write as little as possible. Poison's faster, nyah! XD
Next post will be a random chapter (e.g. explainer, cutscenes, deleted crap, and so on). I'll post maybe tomorrow or Monday. Or next week. Who knows?
Forgive me if the beginning of the chapter is a bit lousy. I hate rushing.
Onward!
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Well, well, well, we're having fun here, Thorn said sardonically as he flapped over the battlefield.
I suppose, Murtagh said absently, scanning the scattered array of men below. They looked like ants, all of them—scrabbling over each other, with pinpricks of red splashing forward every now and then. Let's get this over with.
It'll never be over with, Thorn said with a note of glee in his voice. Now, which one do you suppose is Hrothgar? He paused. What kind of name is Hrothgar, anyway?
Murtagh had to grin. A name we wouldn't give to our own children. He closed his eyes, reaching within himself for the wellspring of magic. It flowed into his left hand, pooling, vibrating with eagerness. Use us, it seemed to whisper. Through you, we can live again…
Then go! Murtagh snapped out his wrist, a savage movement. The magic shot out in a concentrated red beam, slamming the dwarf king squarely in the chest. Murtagh could feel the dwarven minds around the king flicker, then vanish into the void as their wards failed. Hrothgar fell to his knees, a look of surprise crossing his face as he died.
Murtagh exhaled and closed his fist, feeling mild regret. Well, that's that.
Isn't it? Thorn said distractedly, scanning the field. Eragon's got his hand on a horsie; wonder why? The red dragon hovered in midair, red eyes fixed on the sapphire dragon below as a man jumped onto her back. This is going to be fun, he said gleefully. Nobody ever spars with me except Shruikan!
Don't get cocky—Thorn, what the hell are you doing—! Murtagh yelled as Thorn launched himself forward, claws extended. From below, a cry came up as Saphira shouted insults at them, rage clear in her voice.
Traitor! she cried. Egg breaker, oath breaker, murderer!
Ouchie.
Murtagh felt his brother's mind pound at him, grinning as his touch slid off like oil. You may be able to break into one, but you can't break them all, little brother, he thought fiercely, and counterattacked. Eragon retreated rapidly enough, gibbering something that echoed faintly through the opened connection—Underacoldandemptywinterskystoodaweesmallmanwithasilversword—
Has Eragon gone bonkers? Thorn wondered, eavesdropping. Well, never mind. Okay, kids, here we goooooooo!
The two dragons slammed together with a colossal bang, twisting, clawing, biting, snapping. The sound was hideous, vicious screeches sounding as Thorn's claws grated off Saphira's armor, and Saphira's claws off Thorn's flat scales. Murtagh tumbled crazily through the air, sometimes upside-down, sometimes sideways, and sometimes thrown so insanely that he barely knew which was way was up any more. Good thing for all those lessons, he said dizzily, gripping Thorn's reins tightly.
Ha! Thorn snorted, twisting free. The two dragons hovered about fifty yards over the Burning Plains, preparing for a new attack. Saphira pulled her head back and let loose a huge, flaming pillar of fire. Murtagh flicked his hand carelessly, and the fire bifurcated, passing to their sides.
Nice job, Thorn said, and retaliated with his own blast of fire.
It was just as effective as Saphira's flames—it divided harmlessly, leaving Eragon and Saphira without so much as a scorch. Now both dragons climbed again, fighting for altitude. Thorn's head lashed forward, nipping Saphira on the tail; she yelped and darted back. She did a fast backward loop, appearing like magic behind Thorn. He grinned at her, pivoted to the left, and did a half-spiral over her before dodging out of the way of her tail.
Back and forth, back and forth. The two dragons fought with increasingly complicated acrobatics, and Murtagh let him have his fun. They would wear out soon enough, and Thorn could hold his own. Just goes to show that we weren't completely idle, Eragon, he thought grimly at his brother. Here's another demonstration—
Lunging forward with his mind, he attacked.
Thorn dove, angling beneath Saphira. The sapphire dragon hesitated, then braked ever so slightly. At that moment, Eragon jumped off her, spiraling insanely, pulling out his sword.
What is he doing! Thorn yelled, pulling sharply to the left. Of all things—AHHHHHHHHHH!
Blood dripped from a sudden wound on Thorn's leg, and both of them cried out in shared pain. Get to the ground, Murtagh said, his mouth a grim line. Get Saphira down. Playtime's over.
Not yet, Thorn grunted, snapping forward. I'm gonna rip Saphira apart—
He jumped forward, and Saphira returned his attack. They darted back and forth, dueling, nitpicking, but Murtagh knew that these were pathetic tiny rebuffs compared to their former attacks. By mutual truce, the two dragons eventually gave up, gliding slowly. I'm beat, Thorn muttered at last. Your turn.
The red dragon flew over Saphira's landing place, dropping heavily onto the opposite edge of the plateau. Murtagh jumped off, walking over to the injured leg. Thorn held it off the ground, trembling. Are you done admiring it yet? he snapped angrily. Hurry up and heal it!
As always, I bow and obey, Murtagh retorted. Closing his eyes, he reached for the magic, feeling the scaly hide knit together under his fingers. That done, he turned his head to watch Eragon, noting his reaction with bitter pleasure. Well, Eragon, he thought coolly. No pain, no gain? Let's see how you did, shall we?
I'm taking flight, Thorn announced, jumping up into the air. He eyed Saphira warily but made no move to attack; for her part, she did the same. They glided slowly, watching.
The first strike of the sword sent a burst of crimson sparks flying. Murtagh attacked, parried, defended, mildly astonished at the speed and grace with which Eragon fought. You know, he's not bad, Thorn commented.
Shut up, Murtagh said tolerantly. I am trying to concentrate.
There was a grunt from Thorn, and Murtagh turned his mind back to the fight. Eragon advanced forward, moving with an almost feline grace. Still, he couldn't for long, not at that pace. Murtagh backed up step by step to the edge of the plateau, at which point he held, wearing Eragon down. His brother looked tired, and he was moving much too aggressively for a long battle. A defense would be enough.
And now, Murtagh thought grimly.
He took a step forward, and another, forcing Eragon backwards. Eragon was struggling now, the effort visible, sweat pouring down his face. He misstepped, slipped heavily, and crashed to his knees. As a last token gesture, he stabbed uselessly at Murtagh. Murtagh let out a soft hiss of laughter, sending Zar'roc flying with a lazy flick of his wrist. Silly boy, he thought, affectionately and contemptuously all at once. Don't you know? Haven't you realized it yet, brother?
And he did.
Eragon's eyes widened, skipping up the slits of the helmet, the hand-and-a-half sword. He pushed himself up, staring with obvious horror. "I know you!" he cried.
He threw himself at Murtagh, forcing the helmet away.
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Murtagh grinned, amused despite himself at the horrified expression on Eragon's face. He looks like I ran over his pet dog, he remarked to Thorn. "Thrysta vindr!"
A hard ball of air formed, tossing Eragon onto the ground. He landed with a heavy thump. Saphira growled softly, but Murtagh ignored her. "You never would give up," he said quietly, pointing a finger at him.
Eragon stared at him with a terrible horror, pain on his face. "Murtagh…how can you be alive?" he whispered, pushing himself to his feet. "I watched the Urgals drag you underground. I tried to scry you but saw only darkness."
Murtagh laughed, amazed at his brother's naiveté. "You saw nothing, just as I saw nothing the times I tried to scry you during my days in Uru'baen," he said softly.
"You died, though!" Eragon shouted, staring wildly at Murtagh. "You died under Farthen Dur. Arya found your bloody clothes in the tunnels."
Murtagh's face darkened, as memory returned. So many months ago…those damned Twins. That was the lie they had put. That was—
Plan your bloody revenge later, Thorn interrupted.
Oh. Murtagh forced himself to face Eragon, struggling with his feelings and the uprise of the voices. "No, I did not die. It was the Twins' doing, Eragon. They took control of a group of Urgals and arranged the ambush in order to kill Ajihad and capture me. Then they ensorcelled me so I could not escape and spirited me off to Uru'baen."
Eragon shook his head, looking lost. "But why did you agree to serve Galbatorix? You told me you hated him. You told me—!"
"Agree!" Murtagh laughed, absurdly finding this statement funny. "I did not agree. First Galbatorix punished me for spiting his years of protection during my upbringing in Uru'baen, for defying his will and running away!" He paused, studying Eragon's face. "Then he extracted everything I knew about you, Saphira, and the Varden."
"You betrayed us!" Eragon screamed. "I was mourning you, and you betrayed us!"
Murtagh watched him slowly, feeling his laughter drain away. "I had no choice," he said somberly. I never did.
"Ajihad was right to lock you up," Eragon spat viciously. "He should have let you rot in your cell, then none of this—"
"I had no choice!" Murtagh snarled, his rage rearing up once more. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. It took a while before he could speak again. "And after Thorn hatched for me," he said in a calmer voice, "Galbatorix forced both of us to swear loyalty to him in the ancient language. We cannot disobey him now."
Eragon absorbed it all, a growing look of horror and disgust welling in his face. Finally, he said, "You have become your father."
My father…
Murtagh smiled, savoring it. "No…not my father. I'm stronger than Morzan ever was. Galbatorix taught me things about magic you've never even dreamed of…spells so powerful, the elves dare not utter them, cowards that they are. Words in the ancient language that were lost until Galbatorix discovered them. Ways to manipulate energy…" Murtagh shook his head slowly, admiringly. "Secrets, terrible secrets, that can destroy your enemies and fulfill all your desires."
"Secrets that should remain secrets," Eragon retorted.
Oh, Eragon. You're innocent, despite everything…strangely innocent. Murtagh sighed a little ruefully. "If you knew, you would not say that," he said quietly. "Brom was a dabbler, nothing more. And the elves, bah! All they can do is hide in their forest and wait to be conquered!" Murtagh paused, studying Eragon. "You look like an elf now. Did Islanzadi do that to you?"
Eragon didn't say anything, his jaw sticking out stubbornly. Murtagh shrugged. "No matter. I'll learn the truth soon enough—"
Two figures out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Murtagh paused, then blinked as he stared. What're they doing here?
Hmm? Oh. Them. Thorn followed his gaze, staring glumly out at the Twins. I could disembowel them if you like.
Galbatorix will be angry…wait, who's that?
There was a figure creeping up at them, one that Murtagh didn't recognize. It was obvious that Eragon did, though, and he opened his mouth to cast a spell. Murtagh shook his head. "Wait. I want to see what he'll do."
Eragon frowned slightly. "Why?"
Murtagh smiled bleakly, memories flitting into his mind. "The Twins enjoyed tormenting me when I was their captive."
Eragon gave him an odd look. "You won't hurt him? You won't hurt the Twins?"
Twitchy little git, Thorn remarked idly
Murtagh grimaced, giving the mental version of an annoyed sigh. Turning his mind back to Eragon, he said quietly, "Vel einradhin iet ai Shur'tugal." Upon my word as a Rider.
It was a strangely companionable moment. The two Riders, once friends and now enemies, turned to watch the man as one. The man crawled up, hiding behind a mound of bodies. Even Thorn was silent, all of them watching with anticipation as the man jumped up, slamming one Twin right in the head. The other one fell at the same moment, shrieking like a banshee until the man reared up, slamming his—
Is that a hammer? Thorn wondered incredulously. The Twins got hammered? That's such a lame pun!
At least they're dead, Murtagh said in slow disbelief. They are dead, right?
They look dead to me! Why did the other Twin fall—
Shhhh. Eragon's saying something…Murtagh pulled his mind away, reeling with surprise. That was it? So easy? Just a man with a hammer and the Twins were gone?
"…here to kill me?" Eragon completed, finishing with a dark glare.
"Of course not," Murtagh said, fumbling to pick up the thread of the conversation. "Galbatorix wants you alive."
"What for?"
Murtagh blinked once or twice, his shock and contempt overcoming his disbelief over the Twins' deaths.. "You don't know?" he said incredulously. Gods, even a blind toddler could've figured it out! "Ha! There's a fine jest. It's not because of you; it's because of her." He gestured in Saphira's direction. The confusion on Eragon's face was clear, and Murtagh resisted the temptation to roll his eyes as he explained.
"The dragon inside Galbatorix's last egg, the last dragon egg in the world, is male. Saphira is the only female dragon in existence. If she breeds, she will be the mother of her entire race." Murtagh looked earnestly at Eragon, trying to make him understand. "Do you see now? Galbatorix doesn't want to eradicate the dragons! He wants to use Saphira to rebuild the Riders! He can't kill you, either of you, if his vision is to become reality…" Murtagh sighed, looking off into the distance. Visions…
Galbatorix's voice echoed in his head—fervent, melodious, ingrained into his mind throughout his fever and training. "And what a vision it is, Eragon," Murtagh said softly. "You should hear him describe it, then you might not think so badly of him. Is it evil that he wants to unite Alagaesia under a single banner, eliminate the need for war, and restore the Riders?"
Eragon stared at him, eyes huge. "He's the one who destroyed the Riders in the first place!" he cried, his voice a little shriek.
"And for good reason," Murtagh said, shaking his head. "They were old, fat, and corrupt! The elves controlled them and used them to subjugate humans. They had to be removed so that we could start anew."
Eragon let out a half-hiss, half-snarl, scowling fiercely. He paced across the plateau, then gestured wildly at the battlefield. "How can you justify causing so much suffering on the basis of a madman's ravings? Galbatorix has done nothing but burn and slaughter and amass power for himself. He lies. He murders. He manipulates! You know this! It's why you refused to work for him in the first place."
Murtagh studied him, eyes narrowed.
Eragon seemed to notice this, and his voice softened slightly. "I can understand that you were compelled to act against your will, and that you aren't responsible for killing Hrothgar. You can try to escape, though! I'm sure that Arya and I could devise a way to neutralize the bonds Galbatorix has laid upon you." He paused, his elfin features still containing that strange innocence he'd always had, even after so much. "Join us, Murtagh. You could do so much for the Varden. With us, you could be praised and admired, instead of cursed, feared, and hated!"
The words struck a deep chord with Murtagh. He dropped his gaze, staring down the length of his sword, seeing his reflection in the polished steel. Damn, he cursed softly, not knowing what he was swearing at. Goddamn it all.
We can't, Thorn said softly.
No, really? Murtagh snapped bitterly. I gathered that. Bile flooded his throat, and he could taste blood in his mouth. Anger hummed in his veins, anger that he didn't and couldn't control. Sensing this, the voices rose in tandem.
Get a grip, Thorn said tightly.
I don't want to, Murtagh whispered, a soft sound of desperation and fury. Don't you see, Thorn? I'm sick of all this, of control—what do I want? What does Eragon want?
Well, I can tell you what I want, Thorn said cruelly. I want you to stop whining and give him your answer! You know damn well we can't. Say so!
It was a challenge, and despite himself Murtagh rose to it. He exhaled slowly, forcing his frustration to drain away with it. Don't think about that, he thought distantly, fighting his resentment, his misery, his fury. Survival…
When he was sure he could control himself, he spoke again. His voice was low, controlled, and absolutely emotionless. I can't.
"You cannot help me, Eragon. No one but Galbatorix can release us from our oaths, and he will never do that." Murtagh raised his gaze, meeting Eragon's eyes defiantly. "He knows our true names, Eragon. We are his slaves…forever."
Pity. Sentimentality, sympathy, and compassion—Eragon stank of it. For some reason, that incensed Murtagh, and that was only increased with Eragon spoke next. "Then let us kill the two of you."
Murtagh's emotions exploded out of him, sharp and contemptuous. "Kill us! Why should we allow that?"
Eragon hesitated, apparently thinking of the right words to say. "It would free you from Galbatorix's control. And…it would save the lives of hundreds, if not thousands, of people! Isn't that a noble enough cause to sacrifice yourself for?"
Murtagh stared at Eragon with scorn, exasperation and weariness entwining within him. A paragon! he thought derisively. Such a hero you are. If our positions were switched, would you say the same? Brother? Murtagh shook his head with annoyance. "Maybe for you, but life is still too sweet for me to part with it so easily. No stranger's life in more important than Thorn's or my own."
Thinking, thinking. Murtagh could almost hear the little click click click as Eragon's mind spun. Almost as in slow motion, Eragon drew his sword, lunging forward. Murtagh felt pressure on his mind; he ignored that. With a small sigh of annoyance, he snapped, "Letta!"
Eragon fell onto the ground, invisible bands clamping his arms and legs. It was a sensation that Murtagh knew well, and a sudden flood of absurd satisfaction flooded him. The scales are reversed, now! What goes up must come down, but it's also the other way around…
Out of the corner of his eye, Murtagh saw Saphira leap forward. Almost lazily, the Rider commanded, "Risa!"
Saphira yelped with surprise, wriggling in the air. Murtagh gave himself a moment to admire the effect before turning back to Eragon. I've never seen that before, Thorn wondered, pulling closer for a better look. She's hanging in midair!
Murtagh didn't say anything, fixing his attention on Eragon. The other Rider looked furious and confused, his eyes darting between Murtagh and Saphira. There was a hesitation, then he cried, "Brakka du vanyali sem huildar Saphira un eka!"
Instantly, Murtagh felt the pressure of Eragon's magic batter against his. He let it flail against Eragon's bonds, about as effective as a child having a tantrum. The magic of the void kept Eragon in place, and no merely human power could counter it. Not even a dragon.
Five seconds…
Twenty seconds…
A minute… Not bad, Murtagh thought, staring flatly at Eragon. I thought you'd give out long before this.
I lay my bet on two minutes, Thorn announced.
A minute and a half…
Two minutes…
Abruptly, the pressure slacked off and released. Eragon gasped, sagging against the bindings of magic. Murtagh raised an eyebrow, mildly impressed. I win, Thorn said smugly. What now?
Excellent questionWhat now?
Murtagh paced forward, surveying his brother slowly. Eragon was caught like a fly in a trap, too weak to even stand of his own will. This kind of power, a power to play with lives—it was intoxicating. Addicting, even, just to know that that Eragon was his to do as he wished. No one—excepting Galbatorix, who was not here—could stop him.
"You cannot hope to compete with me," Murtagh said softly. "No one can, except Galbatorix." Lazily, Murtagh set the point of the sword at the base of Eragon's neck; fear leapt into Eragon's eyes. "It would be so easy to take you back to Uru'baen."
Eragon's breathing was tight and shallow. "Don't. Let me go."
Murtagh laughed quietly. "You just tried to kill me."
"You would've done the same in my position," Eragon said, his voice high with near panic, his eyes fixed on Murtagh's face. "We were friends, once! We fought together. Galbatorix can't have twisted you so much that you've forgotten!" He paused. "If you do this, Murtagh, you'll be lost forever."
Forever.
Almost as if in a dream, another voice entered Murtagh's confused thoughts. A voice from so long ago, almost another life. A voice that he'd tried to bury in his thoughts, to erase—but even after all that, was still a vital part of him.
"Where do you draw the line in terms of need?"
"You have a warrior's ethics, Murtagh… They form a vital part of your being, and, well, that's important. But part of the warrior code, it's…it's honorable. I know they say there's no honor among thieves, right? But you're not a thief…"
"When you run this kingdom at Galbatorix's right-hand side...err on the side of caution. Try to spare lives whenever possible, and to always remember each one as a living being rather than a number."
Survival, Salem! Murtagh thought, his jaw working as he struggled to work out his thoughts. Do you know what this will do? Do you know what Galbatorix will do if I let him go?
The only answer was the cries of men as they died on the battlefield; the sounds of the dead and the dying. Thorn? Murtagh whispered, reaching out blindly.
The red dragon shook his head. This is your choice, Murtagh...whatever you choose, I will stand by it.
Murtagh stared out at the mass of armies, watching as men fought and killed, fought and died. To show mercy would leave him to Galbatorix's wrath. To withhold it...
"I was ordered to try to capture you and Saphira," Murtagh said quietly. "I have tried. Make sure we don't cross paths again." He shifted his glance back to Eragon, his expression calm and bland. "Galbatorix will have me swear additional oaths in the ancient language that will prevent me from showing such mercy when next we meet." He hesitated, and lowered his sword.
It is done.
"You're doing the right thing," Eragon breathed.
Murtagh shrugged, a detached coolness settling over him. "Perhaps. But before I let you go…" He reached forward, touching Zar'roc with almost reverent fingers before taking the bloodred sword. Taking the sheath as well, he held the peerless sword up, where the dying light was reflected off its edges.
"If I have become my father, then I will have my father's blade. Thorn is my dragon, and a thorn he shall be to all our enemies...it is only my right, then, that I should also wield the sword Misery. Misery and Thorn, a fit match." He paused. "Besides, Zar'roc should have gone to Morzan's eldest son, not his youngest. It is mine by right of birth."
Shock spread over Eragon's face. Murtagh smiled slightly, savoring it. "I never told you my mother's name, did I? And you never told me yours. I'll say it now: Selena. Selena was my mother and your mother. Morzan was our father. The Twins figured out the connection while they were diffing around in your head…Galbatorix was quite interested to learn that particular piece of information."
"You're lying!" Eragon screamed.
Murtagh laughed quietly, repeating what he had said in the ancient language. Stepping up to Eragon, he whispered into his brother's ear softly… "You and I—we are the same, Eragon. Mirror images of each other. You can't deny it."
"You're wrong," Eragon snarled, fighting the spell. "We're nothing alike. I don't have a scar on my back anymore."
Murtagh pulled back, a sudden fury flooding his veins. Eragon, the fortunate one, the good one, the pure one who fought for all that stood for freedom…what could touch him? What pain or sorrow had he known?
It took a long, agonized moment for him to control himself. Murtagh took a deep breath, eyes flicking up and away. "So be it. I take my inheritance from you, brother. Farewell."
Retrieving his helm from the ground, Murtagh pulled himself onto Thorn. He had made his choice, he had cast his lots. Now all was left was to see how they fell.
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End of Chapter Inheritance