Southern Alagaësia, the Beor Mountains.
"Clean up this mess, we're done here".
The commanding tone in his voice left no room for argument and Murtagh's orders were quickly followed without any grumblings. Not that the men needed to be told what to do. Serjeants and lesser officers were already yapping at the men to get off their behinds to clean up the corpses littering the ground where a small battle had taken place.
Dwarves and men of the Varden held the highest casualty, but they were quickly picked clean of any valuables. The only men that would be afforded the respects of a proper burial were the ones loyal to the empire. The rest would be left for the vultures.
The so called battle had been more of an ambush than that of a prober battle. A small pass between the mountains had made certain that their enemies were made mincemeat of in no time, as the Varden and Dwarves were caught with enemies from both the front and back. His men had hacked them apart with methodical ease, not that their commander had expected anything less considering that they had held a great numeral advantage.
Murtagh was currently seated upon Thorn at the top of the mountainous pass. A few magicians surrounded the ruby dragon, but not for protection mind you. They were simply messengers, so that his orders could be relayed to other mages, battlegroups and officers during or after the battle. Usually he would have taken to the field himself, but he wanted to test his men's capabilities without a rider leading from the front.
When he heard the reports that the host marching towards the pass was almost less than a thousand strong he just couldn't resist the opportunity to see his men fight without him. It was important that they didn't get to dependent on his might in battle, war was unpredictable and who knew if they had to fight without him in the near future.
Men were fickle creatures, eager to follow when a strong figure was leading from the front, but easy to break when the battle looked bleak.
His own host was about ten thousand strong, mostly infantry and archers as cavalry just didn't do well within the Beor Mountains. He could muster up at least thrice the number that he currently commanded, but he had needed speed and flexibility to catch the dwarves off guard within their own territory. He had therefore sent the larger part of his army towards the edge of the Beor's and the border of Surda.
King Orrin might be able to shatter the host as Murtagh had left the most incompetent and dimwitted of commanders with said host, but the rider highly doubted that the young king would risk outright open war with Galbatorix. The glorified dragonfodder in the form of mustered levies had also been left behind with the larger host. He didn't want the forcefully conscripted peasants who had never held a pike in their lives getting in the way of the competent soldiers that Murtagh had brought with him.
Lord Darkridge, a noble from a long line of Galbatorix supporters had been delighted when Murtagh had given him command of the larger host. The young rider had simply wanted the man out of the way and a space for their cavalry's valuable horses to be protected. Not that he had anything against Belvis Darkridge personally, Murtagh had simply seen a chance to kill two birds with one stone. The man himself was a charming and cool tempered middle-aged man, but he was comically incompetent where war was concerned.
Not that Murtagh should point fingers at anyone. He had of course grown up as educated as any noble in the ways of war, but nothing could have prepared him for the real thing. Those first few weeks had been absolute hell as they marched out from Uru'baen. Logistics, marching, foraging and having to listen to every single lord and their oh so useful suggestions had almost made Thorn roast the whole bunch, as the dragon had to deal with Murtagh's torture by proxy. Not to mention him having to deal with the backstabbing intrigues of more than a dozen mages within his own ranks.
Still though, Darkridge was the highest ranking noble amongst the lords following Murtagh and "snubbing" him in favor of a lower ranking but more competent individual would make the nobility of his host raise their hackles. He just didn't even want to think about dealing with that kind of backlash.
Keeping everyone satisfied was almost half the battle.
It had therefore been quite the relief when the dragon rider found a legitimate reason for sending the most useless of the bunch miles away from him.
It sure had done wonders for his and Thorn's overall mood
As he mused about these things he noticed that one of the magicians, an old but dependable man by the name of Wilfred was approaching him and Thorn.
"My lord rider" The usual bow followed "There has been some commotion since Young Tornac began rounding up the rebel survivors" He paused as more information was being relayed to him. "He asks what should be done with the prisoners".
"Peculiar" Murtagh thought. Tornac knew very well that he wanted the prisoners alive. A corpse could not tell where their allies were hiding, and there were no maps within the empire that showcased the thirteen dwarven clan's territories in any elaborate detail. He needed as much information as possible if he were to traverse the Beor Mountains safely.
Deciding to see what was going on he simply nodded at Wilfred before Thorn took off toward the site of the battle.
Men shuffled out of the way as Thorn made his descent. He landed not far away from where more than two dozen restrained prisoners were already lined up. Most of them were dwarves, but he did notice a few humans amongst them. He also noted that Tornac was off to the side, apparently arguing with two men and making rather rude gestures at them. A great circle of soldiers was already surrounding the two arguing parties.
What has the boy gotten into this time?
As he dismounted from Thorn he noted with irritation that different soldiers, knights and even lords from all around the battlefield were already flogging towards his location, no doubt eager to find out what had brought their general to the ground. There was no way that everyone in his army wouldn't know of what was about to happen, even though he himself didn't even understand what he was about to get into.
As he neared the prisoners his approach was finally noted by Tornac who immediately bowed with a swift "My lord". The rider simply waved him off "No need for formalities Tornac". He came to a stop just before the young man. "Now what is this about?".
As he studied Tornac he couldn't help but think of the boy's father, the only man that had ever acted as a true father to Murtagh himself. The similarities between son and father were truly uncanny. They shared the same dark hair, the same grey eyes, and he was sure that when the sixteen year old boy had filled out his frame fully that they would share the same build.
Distant memories bloomed within the rider's mind as he thought back to those early days.
Murtagh hadn't been able to contain his surprise when he realized just whose son would be traveling with his army, but it had been a welcome surprise nonetheless.
His father figure had apparently been a bit of a scoundrel during Murtagh's early years and had sired a child upon a visiting noble woman in Uru'baen. This just wasn't any noble woman though. Tornac had apparently lain with Diana of house Castelli, the sole remaining child, and thus heiress of the late Lord Castelli.
Their house was not a rich or particularly powerful one, but they were an old house, one of the couple dozen or so that survived Galbatorix's rebellion, and thus they were reserved some form of respect.
Tornac could of course not remain with the lady Castelli, let alone marry her. No noble blood ran through his veins, a marriage would have caused mass hysteria within the nobility of Alagaësia. Besides, the man had already grown quite fond of his own unofficial ward in the form of Murtagh. He had known that Diana would love their child regardless, but none had at the time cared for Murtagh besides himself, and so he stayed in Uru'baen.
The pregnancy of the unmarried lady Castelli was of course quite the scandal and as Tornac was born out of wedlock he was not eligible for any inheritance as a natural son of house Castelli. That still didn't stop Diana Castelli from naming her son after his father though, to the dismay of any who knew of they boy's secret father.
Then years later, as Murtagh was gathering his host at Uru'baen to march for the first time, the young Tornac apparently arrived at the royal court, by invitation of none but Galbatorix himself.
Murtagh had been there that day, considering than the king had ordered him to stand by his side as court proceeded with its usual dullness. He had explained to Murtagh just exactly who was coming to court that day.
The fear mixed with excitement that had rolled off the young Tornac as he had approached Galbatorix on his throne had been almost palpable. No doubt the young boy had never been much further than the lands surrounding Castelli estate by Dras-Leona.
And then Galbatorix had started with a speech of his own, a speech of the loyalty, duty and sacrifice needed to maintain their great kingdom. It had been quite a rousing speech, even Murtagh as much as he loathed the king could admit to that, but what happened next none could have expected.
As Galbatorix left his throne he had bade Tornac kneel before him, and then with Vrangr touching the young boy's shoulders had bid him rise as Tornac Castelli, heir to the noble house of Castelli. It was a masterful move. With one legitimization the king had secured the loyalty of the future lord Castelli, but he had at the same time secured the chains binding Murtagh even further. As easily as Galbatorix gave power, as easily could he take it away. The message had been clear. If Murtagh was ever to step out of line, then Tornac, the son of the one man Murtagh ever considered a true father would be one of the first to die.
That fact still hadn't stopped him from befriending the boy and becoming something akin to an older brother to the young lad.
He didn't know whether he was just plain stupid or dreadfully idealistic at having done so as he looked into Tornac's lively grey eyes.
The eyes of his father.
"I was simply making sure that our prisoners were ready for transport, but some amongst us would rather we just kill them without interrogation". The implied "Some amongst us" were obviously the two heavily armored knights that Tornac had been arguing with. Their heraldry showed a loosened arrow with a green background.
Trying to not scrounge up his face in irritation his mind raced. "Gods preserve me" He projected at Thorn as he tried to remember whichever house held such heraldry.
"House Eaglemond" Came Thorn's smug response to Murtagh's mounting irritation.
"You two" he called out as his attention was turned away from Tornac towards the two knights. "My orders were clear, surely lord Eaglemond does not wish for his sworn bannermen to hinder our host's progress?". That had them on their backfoot. Insinuating that others were committing borderline treason was always a delightful treat for Murtagh considering his own circumstances.
"Of course not my lord" Said the smaller of the two knights, his voice laced with equal amounts of respect for ones superiors and arrogance at ones own standing. "But that one" he pointed at one of the restrained dwarves, an individual with a giant red beard and a gouged out eye "He killed three knights of house Eaglemond by himself and almost took the head of our lord's brother, satisfaction must be met my lord rider". Murtagh had to refrain from looking at the dwarf again, killing three knights by oneself was no easy feat, and he'd only heard positive things about the sword arm of lord Eaglemond's brother.
Before he could respond though, Tornac beat him to it with a biting comment.
"You already knifed his eye out without my leave, your satisfaction can wait". It was clear they had been bickering for quite a while.
Murtagh shot the younger man a sharp look, which caused Tornac to reproachfully lower his head. His full attention was then brought to bear on the two knights, his own distinctive grey eyes almost crackling with lighting as he surveyed the men.
"As I see it you've ruined your chance at satisfaction the moment you gouged a prisoner's eye out without lord Castelli's leave and forced me to oversee what should have been a rather simple affair". He let his statement hang in the air for all to hear, a good amount of people had gathered around. "Refrain from encumbering our expedition further and maybe I'll consider giving you the satisfaction you desire". The two men shuffled awkwardly around before settling on a humble chorus of "My lord". Murtagh gently waved them off.
"Always the generous general aren't you Murtagh"
Ignoring his partner's words, but inwardly smiling Murtagh turned to look at the great cluster of men that had gathered to look at the spectacle.
"And what are you all looking at? Don't you people have jobs to do? We're still in enemy territory so get off your asses, I want us out of here in less than an hour". The men in question promptly disappeared as fast as they had. The red rider then turned to the reason that he had come here
"Tornac follow me, I'm sure your men can handle transferring the prisoners without you playing hen mother". The young Castelli heir smiled lightly before nodding and started following Murtagh, but not before shouting some commands to the remaining men in Castelli livery to take care of the rebels. Murtagh simply held his tongue as he noticed that his young friend seemed to have finally gotten into the groove of command.
He had truly come a long way from the unsure boy he met in Uru'Baen.
"I'm sure that you could have handled two unruly knights by yourself Tornac" It was the truth, he had noted that almost every single one of house Castelli's bannermen had held their hands close to their sword hilts, ready to draw steel should their liege be endangered. He didn't doubt that Tornac could have just brute forced his will through if he had wished to do so.
"Perhaps, but then I wouldn't be able to talk to you my lord". The mischief in his voice was hard to miss
"You could have simply asked if you wanted to speak with me and while we're at it, quit the 'my lord' when it's just us".
It seemed as though Tornac immediately sobered up "Of course Murtagh, though I regret to tell you that I didn't want to speak with you for my leisure only". He paused, as if to steel himself against whatever reaction his next words might prompt from his friend. "I wanted to warn you, I've heard words that a messenger has arrived from Uru'Baen, he awaits you back at camp".
A shiver crept down his spine as his blood turned to ice. He knew exactly what a messenger from Uru'Baen Heralded.
"So soon?" Thorn's voice was somber, none of them wished to return to the capital already. It had been but a couple of weeks since they returned from their secret visit to Gil'ead. He didn't doubt that the only thing that awaited them were a summons to fly for Uru'Baen as fast as Thorn's wings could carry then.
"Well I thank you for bringing it to my attention, but I just might delay my return to camp for a little while longer then". He paused to consider what could seem like a legitimate reason for him not to return as of yet.
In the end nothing really came to him, so he ended up just wandering around the battlefield, Tornac dutifully staying by his side and occasionally making small talk.
It was enjoyable for both men, it came with the kind of relaxation that one only experienced after battle. Not that it had been much of a struggle though. He had been afforded a great vantage point of the battle atop the mountain pass, but you could truly see the difference here on the ground. He wondered what such a small host of men and dwarves were even doing here. Perhaps they were survivors from the battle at Tronjheim, but considering how far Murtagh's host was from the dwarven city he doubted it.
It might have merely been reinforcements sent to a nearby dwarven holdfast, or maybe they were headed for Surda. Murtagh wouldn't know, since he had no idea where any of the dwarven clans were located. He hoped that their prisoners could clear it up, with some good old fashioned persuasion of course. They were a sturdy bunch though, so he might have to oversee the interrogations personally. For certain, what the Knurlan lacked in height they made up for with an iron will.
He noticed that dusk would soon be upon them, and that he would probably have to speak to that twice damned messenger within the very near future. The battlefield was almost empty now. The last wagons were already making their exit back towards the camp, their holds filled to the brim with steel and corpses.
"Let's return Tornac, I think I've been avoiding this for too long now."
In response Thorn, who had taken flight some time ago began his descent once again to pick up the two men. He could have simply walked back to camp to delay Galbatorix's summons even further, but he would rather feel the pleasures of taking flight with his partner.
As he started climbing into his saddle, an apprehensive Tornac quickly followed in his wake before settling in behind Murtagh. It wasn't the first time that his young friend had flown with him, but he had never truly lost his phobia of height.
He looked back towards Tornac to ask a nonverbal 'are you ready'.
His friend just gave a nervous smile "A dragonlord I am not" and then without further they were off.
Thorn fortunately left out any barrel rolls and evasive maneuvers for this flight. Tornac's stomach did despicable things when the dragon flew like "A drunken madman" as the young man would say.
Still though, it didn't take them long to reach their destination. A great clearing had been made for Thorn, so that he could land near Murtagh's personal tent and command center.
Dismounting from Thorn, Murtagh said his goodbyes to Tornac before separating and heading into his temporary home. He had made certain that Tornac and his bannermen would be located closely to Murtagh's own center of command. He liked to keep his friends close. It was also a nonverbal way for people to understand that they shouldn't mess with Murtagh's inner circle. Such maneuvers could obviously only get one so far, considering the days earlier events.
As he entered his tent one might be surprised at how large and luxurious the insides of it actually looked compared to the dull exterior, but such surprise would quickly fade away if you understood the more intricate parts of Gramarye.
Expanding enchantments are truly a godsend
What wasn't a godsend though was the man gobbling down on his food and wine as though there were no tomorrow. Murtagh didn't even know the man's name, but he looked to be of the same stature as every other messenger Galbatorix sent whenever he needed him back in Uru'baen. His face was shrouded with magic so it wasn't as though he could put a face to memory.
The unknown man turned towards the young rider "Your master requests your presence". Before turning his attention back to the plate in front of him.
Murtagh bristled at the disrespect.
It always rankled him whenever people showcased their knowledge of the true relationship between the king and his riders. He had often flirted with the idea of killing this messenger. Their disrespect and subtle pokes at his patience were always the same, but he doubted that Galbatorix would be pleased, so for the moment he would simply play the dutiful little lapdog.
He just stood there, his eyes boring into the side of the man's head "I'll leave at dawn". The no doubt member of the Black Hand just kept on eating the food prepared on the table. "Excellent" The man took a deep gulp of some red wine "Our gracious king seemed quite insistent, no doubt he is in great need of his most loyal vassal's council".
Screw you
"We live to serve". He bit out.
Sometimes Murtagh wished that Galbatorix would simply scry him. That way he at least wouldn't have to listen to these taunts, but one had to keep himself warded against any magical interference, especially when as deep in enemy territory as he was.
He just kept silent and walked into an adjacent room within the expanded tent, his private bedchambers to be exact. The mage would no doubt leave soon enough now that his duty was complete. He hoped the man would receive a perilous and exhausting journey back to wherever Galbatorix summoned him from.
He would have to speak with Tornac and some of their allies before leaving. His head was filled with traitorous thoughts that would have him tortured for days without end if the king were to filter through his mind. They would have to be suppressed deep within his consciousness where none would find them. It was always the same precaution he took before he left. Galbatorix no doubt knew that something was off with his rider's mind, but if he couldn't decipher what exactly the problem was then Murtagh would count himself a lucky man indeed.
The only positive thing he could think about the situation was that Arya would most likely be there as well. He didn't doubt that the reason for him being summoned had something to do with the remaining egg having been hatched. Galbatorix would not miss the chance to taunt the former egg courier, princess and ambassador of the elves.
His blood boiled at the images that his mind conjured. Galbatorix knew exactly what buttons to press to break a person down, he should know that better than most. At the very least they would go through it together as they always did, the king did very rarely summon one rider without the other, as though he wanted to remind them both of the power he held over them.
He shook his head, clearing his mind of such thoughts. He didn't feel hungry in the slightest in light of Galbatorix's summons, but exhaustion was gnawing at his bones. Within minutes he had drifted off to sleep, the sweet caress of nothingness accepting him with warm open arms.
A/N
Incredible, a chapter within a week from my last upload? Yes your eyes do not deceive you and I hope it was up to par.
I decided to introduce some self-made oc noble houses, this is a feudal society after all so I figured it only made sense (why should the elves be the only ones with an established canon nobility tsk tsk).
I once read Memorandums Of Scales by SongofVedas, who tried to incorporate noble houses and families within their story and I remember they were criticized for ripping of asoiaf/got with their aristocracy. I am a rather big fan of Asoiaf no doubt about it, but I do hope that most people realize that George RR Martins societal structure of asoiaf is of course based on old western feudal society.
I like to consider myself a small student of history and it really only made sense for me to introduce noble families and houses within my story.
Other than that I hope this was enjoyable to the people reading, your reviews and follows are greatly motivating not gonna lie.