Thorn and Misery - Chapter 5
Murtagh had no trouble rising early the next day. Donning the shirt and trousers that had been set out for him, he watched as Thorn awoke, stretching himself like a cat.
Morning, said Thorn through their mental connection.
Murtagh was still unused to Thorn's presence in his mind, though it was not wholly unwelcome. Looking out one of the tall windows of his suite, he saw that Thorn had been right. The calm, clear sky of the previous evening had vanished, and had been replaced with a vast expanse of angry, iron-grey clouds that stretched outward past the horizon. The air was terribly humid, and Murtagh could hear rolls of thunder crashing in the distance. A storm was coming.
Murtagh proceeded out into the hall, Thorn trotting at his heels. Flaming torches spaced evenly upon the dark stone walls provided light and heat, but still they were not completely shielded from the chill of the outside air. They hurried down the draughty corridors until they arrived at the great golden doors of the throne room, and then proceeded straight past them toward the dining hall.
Trepidation settled over Murtagh like a pall, growing heavier with every step. He had always avoided this room, where Galbatorix held the grandest feasts and parties for his courts, whenever possible.
The two men guarding the heavy oak doors were talking quietly to each other as Murtagh and Thorn approached. They straightened up, gaping at the dragon. The taller of the two regained his composure and directed Murtagh inside. "Right this way, sir," he said, "His Majesty's expecting you."
When Murtagh entered the dining hall, he understood immediately that it served an entirely different purpose than the throne room. There was neither gaudy gold nor all-encompassing darkness; instead, the brightly lit chamber was furnished entirely of polished wood. Long tables, currently empty, sat against the walls, making way for the large dance floor that filled the centre of the room. Light from the elegant crystal chandeliers that hung from the high ceiling was reflected in the gleaming floor. Thick walls and roaring fires of the dining hall kept the cold at bay.
Murtagh knew that while the dark and forbidding atmosphere of the throne room was meant to strike fear and awe into the hearts of Galbatorix's subjects, the dining hall left guests comfortable and at ease, and thus open to the king's manipulations.
Galbatorix sat in a grand, throne-like chair at the centre of the head table, raised several inches on a stone dais. The many platters were already loaded with breakfast fare. "Good morning once again, Murtagh. I see you have received my message. There is much that needs to be done today, but first, please eat."
He gestured to a chair on his immediate right. Murtagh sat, and Thorn settled himself behind their table. Murtagh selected some fruit and rolls, and Galbatorix asked, "Have you chosen a name for your dragon yet?"
"Yes. We decided on 'Thorn.'"
Galbatorix nodded his approval. "And a thorn he shall be to all of our enemies."
That was to be the last of the conversation, it seemed. Galbatorix ate his meal in silence and Murtagh was happy to follow his lead. When they finished, servants appeared and wordlessly cleared away the dishes.
Galbatorix rose, beckoning for Murtagh to follow. Murtagh did as he was bid, and he followed Galbatorix out a side door and down a short corridor into a small, dimly lit anteroom. Murtagh cried out in shock at the sight that awaited him.
"Traitors!" he bellowed. "What are you doing here?"
"We could ask you the same thing." The Twins turned to face him, their violet silk robes billowing around their tall, thin frames. Murtagh made to throw himself at the identical sorcerers, but found an iron-hard barrier in his way. He pounded his fists against the invisible wall, hatred thundering through his body, but it would not break. Feeling Murtagh's rage, Thorn too launched himself towards the Twins, but found the same barrier blocking his path.
"That is quite enough, Murtagh," admonished Galbatorix. "You would do well to be more polite to my honoured guests. They have been a great help to me these past few years. As my personal informants, the Twins have given me secrets of the Varden even you could not imagine."
The Twins smirked at Murtagh's stunned disbelief. "But then," began Murtagh, "the Urgal attack – that was you!"
The Twins treated him to identical mocking stare. "Give the boy a prize!" they sneered. "Forgive us, sire," said one, "but we had thought your Rider to be more intelligent than this."
Galbatorix pressed his lips together in a tight line. "Shall we move on to the reason we are all here?" he asked, though it was clear from his tone that it was not a question. "I had so hoped it wouldn't come to this, but since you refused my previous offer…" He trailed off, and then addressed the Twins. "Though I hate to rush this sort of thing, there are a whole host of other issues that must occupy my attention today."
The Twins nodded in unison, and rounded on Murtagh. "Today you and your dragon will both swear oaths of fealty to King Galbatorix and to his Empire," one of them said. "We will tell you the words in the ancient language and you will repeat them, so that there will be no…misunderstanding in the matter."
Murtagh bristled; he knew that, since it was impossible to utter falsehoods in the elves' tongue, an oath sworn in the ancient language was eternally binding. "And if we don't?" he asked, vying for time.
"Then we will show you pain such as you have never known," said the Twins simply.
Galbatorix smiled coldly, and then said, "Well, gentlemen, I really must be going. I leave Murtagh and Thorn in your capable hands."
As Galbatorix strode out of the antechamber, the Twins turned to Murtagh, cruel smiles warping their features.
"Galbatorix pities you," said one. "He said to do this gently, to go easy on you."
The other Twin smiled, his eyes bright with sick anticipation. "But Galbatorix is not here."
Murtagh could do nothing to raise his defence before the Twins shouted, "Thrysta vindr!" A rock-hard ball of air slammed into his stomach and he and Thorn were thrown backwards. Murtagh's slammed into the wall, and the stone flags of the room blurred together.
The Twins advanced upon their captives, their hands raised. Murtagh stumbled to his feet, ready to fend them off with his fists if need be. Beside him, Thorn bared his tiny, razor-sharp teeth angrily.
The sorcerers chuckled quietly. "Why, look here, brother," exclaimed one. "The little boys want to play!"
"Well then, I suppose we should grant them their wish!"
At the same moment, on of the Twins shouted "Thrysta vindr!" yet again while the other bellowed, "Brisingr!" The air around Murtagh and Thorn compressed, rooting them to the spot and cutting off their air as a tongue of searing violet flame washed over them. It scorched them to their bones without leaving a single mark on their bodies.
Murtagh lay slumped and huddled in an exhausted heap, powerless to resist the Twin's wrath. "Traitors," he croaked again, but the Twins only laughed.
"No, Murtagh," they replied. "It is you and the Varden who are the traitors. Those puling, filthy rebels will not stand a chance when Galbatorix shows them the true extent of his power. Their order is doomed, but we are here to ensure that you won't go running to them again."
"Repeat after me, Murtagh," said one of the Twins, speaking slowly and clearly "Iet ren un iet lif wiol pomnuria konungr Galbatorix, fra nona eom iet dauth."
Murtagh had no idea what the words meant; he recognized only Galbatorix's name, but he could sense that they were riddled with binding power. Glancing over at Thorn, all he could see were his ruby-bright eyes glittering in the dimly lit anteroom.
The Twin's mouth twisted into an enraged grimace when Murtagh did not speak. "Repeat it!" he snarled. "Brisingr!"
Again the purple fire streaked over Murtagh, making him scream in blind agony. It was Galbatorix's torture all over again, this time doubled with the Twin's combined force. The fire was burning him alive, but it was not so merciful as to let him die.
"Jierda!" The Twins cried together. With a loud crack, Murtagh felt and heard a rib snap. He roared in pain, trying not to move or even to breathe as the Twins sauntered over to where he lay crumpled on the ground.
"Yes, it hurts, doesn't it?" said one of the Twins with a mocking smile. He raised his hand, and Murtagh was slammed up against the wall, unable to move anything but his head. "I suggest you stop struggling, Murtagh. There is no point in resisting. You know you will never beat us. You're only making this harder for us all. We don't want to hurt you."
Somehow, Murtagh doubted that.
But Murtagh would not – could not – surrender to the Twin's demands. Over the past three days he had clung to his last, desperate hope that somehow he would be able to escape Galbatorix's clutches and leave Uru'baen. He knew his escape was unlikely, even impossible, but still he had hoped.
"By the way, Murtagh," said one of the Twins, in a deceivingly offhand manner. "We have some information that we think you will want to know."
"What." It was hardly a question.
"Tut, tut, Murtagh. Say 'please!'"
Murtagh kept silent. If their only goal was to humiliate him, well, he wasn't going to give them the satisfaction.
"Oh well," said the other Twin to his sibling, shrugging his thin shoulders theatrically. "I guess he doesn't want to know that he has a brother."
Murtagh froze. "What did you say?"
"Oh, dear me," said the Twin, drawing a hand to his mouth in mock surprise. "Did I say that out loud?"
"What did you say?" Murtagh repeated.
"I'll give you a hint, you stupid little boy," the Twin snapped. Speaking with deliberate slowness, as if talking to a young child, he said, "Who rides a scaly pig, fumbles with simple spells and thinks himself the rebels' champion?"
Murtagh nearly choked on the blood trickling into his mouth. His legs turned to jelly, and he would have fallen were he not pressed up against the wall, held there by the Twin's invisible shackles. He realized whom they meant but could not believe it. "No!" he said, his voice rising to a shout. "You're lying! I - I don't believe you!"
"Believe it, Murtagh. Nosu gala du illumeo," said the other man with a smirk. "We speak the truth." He had said it in the ancient language - there was no way it could be anything else. Murtagh's mouth would not move. He could only watch on in numb silence as the truth was revealed.
"Eragon thought his mother's name was not worth concealing from us. "'Selena' is not as common as one might think."
"Galbatorix was nearly as stunned as you are when we told him the news. He never even suspected that Morzan had another son. In fact," the other Twin said, "I don't think even Morzan knew his wife was again with child. He was away during her pregnancy, and when your brother was born, the bitch went and hid Morzan's own son from him."
Tears stung at Murtagh's eyes, and it took all his willpower not to let them fall. These bastards had seen too much of his pain. He refused to allow them to see how much their words were killing him.
Eragon was his brother. No matter how he tried, Murtagh could not make sense of the words. They had travelled together for months, fought alongside each other in the battle of Tronjheim, and he had never guessed. Murtagh berated himself for his stupidity. He should have known. Somehow, he should have been able to figure it out.
One of the Twins grabbed Murtagh's chin and wrenched his face upwards, so that they looked each other in the eye. "Imagine the blow the Varden would suffer if they knew their sainted champion was the son of their hated enemy and his Black Hand," he said softly, more to himself than to Murtagh.
With the last bit of strength he could muster, Murtagh spat what was left of the blood in his mouth onto the Twin's pale, pointed face.
The man stood stock still in cold fury for a fraction of a second. As he wiped the blood and saliva from his face with the hem of his sleeve, he whispered, so low that Murtagh could barely hear it, "Big mistake, boy."
Looking him dead in the eye, the Twin released a bolt of agony directly into Murtagh's gut.
Murtagh couldn't help it. He screamed, the sound reverberating around the stone chamber and heightening the volume tenfold. Beside him, Thorn writhed and squealed with the shared pain. The dragon let loose a high, keening wail, and his little body shook so violently that Murtagh thought it would burst. Blood trickled from the corners Murtagh's mouth, and as he tasted the coppery bitterness, he knew he was dying.
That fact far from troubled him, however. He would be free at last. Finally released from the shackles that bound him to both the Empire and the Varden.
His only regret was that Thorn would be alone.
And then the pain was gone. Murtagh went completely limp, and his body fell to the floor in a crumpled heap. The Twin on whom Murtagh had spat knelt beside him. Slowly lowering a finger to Murtagh's mouth, the man touched it to the to the blood that welled there, and then brought it to his own lips.
"Delicious, delicious…" he murmured as he sucked his finger clean, savouring the taste of Murtagh's blood.
"Never," croaked Murtagh, his voice hoarse from screaming. "Never join you."
"You already have, Murtagh."
"No."
Yet again, the Twins cast the spell that sent fire raging across Murtagh's body, but he had no strength to cry out. He lacked the strength even to feel. "Do you enjoy this torture, boy?" they asked, taunting him. Their chilling black eyes were level with his. "Do you? Because only you can make it stop. It will only destroy you if you don't, and think how angry Galbatorix would be if we killed you. Come now, the words are simple: Iet ren un iet lif wiol pomnuria konungr Galbatorix, fra nona eom iet dauth."
Murtagh panted, gasping for breath that only burned his throat further. With a last defeated sigh, he whispered the phrase, cursing inwardly. He had just let go of the last chance he had to regain his freedom. The minute he said the words, Murtagh felt their strength run through his veins. He became rooted to the spot; he could not move an inch. Thorn too was completely motionless, but his eyes betrayed a helpless fear, and he whimpered softly.
"That was very wise of you, Murtagh," said the Twins, halting the flames. "However, we are not yet finished. There are many other oaths you must swear to ensure that you will remain faithful to Galbatorix."
And so the Twins continued with their work. Again and again they spoke words in the ancient language and forced Murtagh to repeat them, binding him and Thorn to Galbatorix, to his Empire and to his cause. Whenever Murtagh was reluctant to speak or stumbled over the unfamiliar words, the Twins would threaten him with the purple flame and make him repeat the phrase until he pronounced every syllable perfectly. It was long and tedious work that took up the better part of the morning and left Murtagh feeling drained and exhausted.
When they were finally finished and the Twins had closed every available loophole, Murtagh and Thorn were released, and nearly crawled back to their rooms. Murtagh winced with every step; his broken rib still pained him greatly. Depositing Thorn on the bed, he slithered beneath the soft goose-down coverlets, too exhausted to remove even his boots. Thorn stepped lightly up to the pillow, gently nuzzling Murtagh's cheek. Murtagh wanted to lift a hand and caress the dragon's head, but found he had not the strength to raise his leaden arms.
As Thorn curled up beside him, he said, Life hurts.
Regret and pity stabbed suddenly at Murtagh's heart. Thorn was barely a day old, and already he had endured more than his share of suffering. From the moment of his birth, he was a prisoner.
"I'm so sorry, Thorn," said Murtagh wearily, his voice hoarse from screaming. Again, tears threatened at the corners of his eyes, though none fell. "I never meant for any of this to happen. Yesterday you were an egg, and today…today you are a slave. Because of me."
Not your fault, Thorn repeated. The little dragon yawned, and Murtagh was suddenly flooded with a feeling of surprising serenity. Even as he lay there, the ache in his limbs lessened somewhat. Happy you found me.
Despite himself, Murtagh smiled weakly. Then, overcome with exhaustion from the days' events, he too was lost to deep and mercifully dreamless sleep.
A/N: It's hard to believe this used to be three different chapters. I think it works much better this way. Aside from that, I think I've finally figured out the order that all this beginning stuff is supposed to appear in. First, Galbatorix tortures Murtagh as punishment for running away (I think the aforementioned "tests" will factor in here somewhere). During this time, Galbatorix discovers Murtagh's true name. Then, when Thorn hatches, the Twins will force both of them to swear allegiance to Galbatorix. After a while, Thorn's true name will also be discovered. It's going to be a little skewed for a while, so please bear with me, and correct me if I'm wrong about the order.