Murtagh didn't like living in the village. He didn't like the space he had been given to live in, for that was all it could be called. It was an old abandoned hut that chilled him to his bones every night while he tried to sleep on the cold, stone floor with only a thin cover for comfort. He could deal with it though, for what other choice did he have? The thing he hated most though was the waste of time jobs that the man had given him to do since he arrived. He never trusted him to work alongside the other men of the village, not that Murtagh had expected the other men to welcome him as they had all been careful to avoid him. The ones that didn't avoid him were careful to cause him as much trouble as possible. He didn't know if this was because he was new to the village or if it was common knowledge who he was, but he kept his head down and got on with it.
His task for that day was to move dirt and blocks of stone from one pile to another. This was a task that particularly annoyed him for it was obvious there was no reason behind it other than to keep him busy and away from the other towns folk. He went about his task quickly and methodically, any attempt to show that he was willing to work might persuade the man to give him some real work. Although Murtagh doubted it would work, he continued on through the day until his bones were aching. It was all he had left in the world, yet sometimes he couldn't help wonder if he would have been better off staying in Urû'baen doing the kings dirty work. After all, he was Morzan's son and it was what the rest of the world expected of him.
He was so wound-up in his thoughts that he was startled when he heard someone shout "Move!" he couldn't make himself go anywhere; instead he stopped and looked for the reason why anyone would shout the direction to him. He saw it coming too late. Three giant rocks that were at the top of the hill on which he was working were racing towards him. The culprit who had pushed them stood there grinning as he watched his plan roll into action. There was hardly any time to react. Instead of scrambling out of the hole he had been working in he took the more risky option of ducking down into it for cover and hoped the rocks would miss.
The crash of the rocks exploding as they hit the ground around the top of the hole sounded deafening to Murtagh. The pain racing through his ears had made him oblivious to the fact that part of a rock had hit him on the side of the head. He only noticed his injury when he moved his hands from his face and saw the blood. Anger and confusion fought within Murtagh as he threw himself out of the hole and ran up the hill to where the man who tried to kill him stood.
The man was young, about nineteen years old and the grin Murtagh had witnessed earlier had instantly faded to fear when he saw him stalking towards him. Clearly shocked that Murtagh had survived his attempt at killing him, the man stood frozen to the spot. Murtagh dived at him, knocking him to the ground and began pounding his fists into the man's body.
Someone pulled him forcefully from the other man and Murtagh landed on the ground only feet from where he had knocked him down. That was when he saw the hooded figure standing beside a tree. He was still dizzy from being pulled from the other man but when he tried to find the figure again it was gone.
"What in seven hell's is going on here!" It had been Tornac's friend who had pulled him from the man.
"Ask him," Murtagh replied, controlling the anger in his voice. "He just tried to kill me."
"It was an accident!" the beaten man panted. "I moved the stones and they began to roll but it is not me who is the evil one here! I swear to you, he made those stones explode somehow!" he continued in a shout of panicked fear.
The argument continued between Murtagh and the man for a further few minutes before Tornac's friend shouted:
"Stop this right now! I did not see what happened here and so cannot tell which of you speaks the truth! I will settle this right now by suggesting that we all forget about this and be on our way."
The other man scampered away as fast as his legs could take him. Murtagh was about to turn and leave when the older man grabbed him by the arm.
"Now listen to me, I don't know what it is your up to but I do not want you using any magic near my home, do I make myself clear?" his grip on Murtagh's arm tightened as he spoke.
Murtagh was about to deny doing anything, but he knew the man would never believe him so he nodded and watched as the older man walked away and left him alone with his thoughts. He was angry that someone had gotten away with trying to kill him, yet it was the fact that someone had saved him that bothered him more. What's more, they had saved him using magic. The thought unsettled Murtagh as he made his way back to his living space to clean up his cut face.