Thorn and Misery - Chapter 6

Murtagh rose as the sun was setting, every muscle in his body screaming in protest. His head ached fiercely, even more so than it had after he had been bludgeoned by the Urgal under Farthen Dur. Forcing the pain from his mind, Murtagh raised himself to a seated position, taking extreme care not to move too quickly. It was then that he remembered his broken rib. Wincing, he lay back down. Thorn had not yet stirred, and was still curled up next to him.

Looking out the ceiling-high windows of his bedchamber, Murtagh saw that the morning's violent storms had not yet ceased. The sheets of icy rain continued to pound the glass windows relentlessly, making them shudder and shake in their wrought-iron frames. Murtagh was grateful for the large fire that had been lit in the hearth, keeping the chill away.

Wary of his rib, Murtagh got up and nudged the dragon. "Come on," he said, his voice even raspier than it had been that morning. "It's time for dinner."

Thorn roused himself quickly at the promise of a meal. He seemed to be in better shape than Murtagh, who was grateful that the Twins torture had been focused on himself rather than the dragon.

"Then let's go," said Murtagh as they left the suite and shuffled down the corridor. "As strange as it sounds, I also want to talk to Galbatorix."

What for?

"You seem very advanced for your age. As far as I know, Saphira took weeks to do what you have accomplished in just days."

Saphira? asked Thorn.

"My – my brother's dragon."

Tell me about her.

"I hardly ever spoke to her, except when we once had to rescue Eragon," replied Murtagh, remembering Eragon's capture at Gil'ead. After much cajoling, he had convinced Saphira to open her mind to him, even though it was considered terrible bad manners to interfere with a Rider's dragon. In the end, Saphira had relented, and after a heavy bribe and a filthy rubbish chute, Murtagh had found and freed Eragon and the elf, Arya. "She seemed well enough, though perhaps a bit full of herself."

Forgivable, in a dragon, said Thorn, drawing a pained smile from Murtagh.

They had now reached the dining hall. Passing a different set of guards this time, they entered and stood before Galbatorix.

"My greetings to you, Murtagh and Thorn. Come and eat. I wish to begin testing your competence, in swordplay and in other areas."

"That won't be possible," said Murtagh. "Thorn and I are both in too much pain to deal with your tests."

"I beg your pardon?" said Galbatorix, his voice low and dangerous.

"When the Twins extracted our vows, they went far beyond the pain that was necessary. In fact, they seemed to enjoy torturing us."

Galbatorix's eyes narrowed, and his already thin lips were pressed so tightly together that they were invisible. "You had better not be lying to me, Murtagh," he said quietly. "I assure you, it will serve you no purpose."

"Look into my mind, then, and you will know that I speak the truth."

Murtagh readied himself, but felt no pain at all as Galbatorix's consciousness slid smoothly over his own, like water over a bed of rocks. So it is possible to do this without pain, he thought.

Galbatorix drew back from Murtagh's mind. "Perhaps you are telling the truth. Rest assured, Murtagh, I will speak to the Twins about their treatment of you and Thorn. I will have to heal your wounds before we begin your test. Both of you stand still."

Galbatorix raised hit hands over Murtagh and Thorn, saying "Waise heill!"
Having been healed by magic only a handful of times in his life, Murtagh was still amazed as his pain began to disappear. His broken rib slid back into place, the bone and sinew knitting itself back together. The ache in his head dulled and then was gone as his stiff, sore muscles relaxed. The cuts sealed themselves, replaced with pink, shiny new skin. His bruises faded.

Murtagh gaped. In the space of a few seconds, Galbatorix had just done what would have taken weeks to heal naturally.

"Much better," said Galbatorix. "Now, come and eat. You are no doubt hungry after your healing."

Murtagh was indeed ravenous. Sitting down beside Galbatorix, he chose a roast chicken leg, a mound of mashed potatoes and some vegetables from the overwhelming amount of food at the table. Thorn, too, was given several whole chickens, and settled himself at Murtagh's feet.

"Now, what is it you wanted to ask me, Murtagh?" he asked.

"It's about Thorn," Murtagh said. "He is barely a day old, and yet he can already communicate with me. And why did he hatch so fast? From what I know, dragons must be in their Rider's presence at least a few days before hatching."

"Though that is more common, it is not always the case," replied Galbatorix. "Sometimes even the smallest contact with his Rider will trigger the reaction that causes a dragon to hatch.

"As to your other question, it is my influence that has advanced Thorn's capabilities. Dragons that have been exposed to me seem to be, shall we say, smarter than they would be otherwise. Their mental capacity responds to my very presence.

"Now, Murtagh, finish your meal. There is much that needs to be done, and very little time in which to accomplish it. We need to be ready to fight the Varden and their Rider at a moment's notice."

Murtagh's spirits fell at that. It was the first mention of his actually fighting Eragon and Saphira. Up until now, that notion had seemed slightly surreal, a far-off nightmare that could never really happen. Galbatorix mentioning it in such a casual way had given life to the nightmare.

"Why?" asked Murtagh suddenly.

"Excuse me?"

"Why do we have to fight Eragon and Saphira? What's the point of killing them?"

Galbatorix gaped. "You thought – you thought I wanted to kill your brother?" And then Galbatorix did something Murtagh never would have expected: He laughed out loud. "Murtagh, I had thought it was obvious! Saphira is the last female dragon in existence. The only chance of survival for her entire race is for her to mate with either Shruikan or Thorn, both of whom are here!" Galbatorix's eyes were wide with the passion of his speech. "Do you think I would throw away the only chance the dragons have? The only chance the Riders have? I simply want you to bring them here, so we can all rebuild the dragons! You and Eragon would lead the new Riders together. This is our only chance for peace!"

"Wait, you want Saphira to mate with Thorn?" Murtagh demanded, almost in disgust. "But – he's just a baby!"

"After my magical growth, that will hardly be a problem."

Murtagh nearly choked on his chicken leg. "Magical growth?" he spluttered, his eyes watering. "You mean to make him bigger unnaturally? You can't do that!"

Galbatorix now became stern. "I can and I will. How else do you suppose him to be big and strong enough to subdue Eragon and Saphira when the time comes? I know they will never come willingly. The poor fools refuse to comprehend that I want only peace for all of Alagaesia. They will never understand that I have only their best interests at heart. I will need to speak to them myself, show them the truth of the matter."

"What about that other egg?" Murtagh asked, remembering the emerald-green egg that had sat beside Thorn's. "You wouldn't need Saphira it were female."

"You are making excuses to protect both her and Eragon, Murtagh, and I will have non of it," admonished Galbatorix firmly. "You cannot let your personal feelings interfere with the greater good. Besides, the dragon is male, I am absolutely sure."

Murtagh's face fell. "How can you tell?"

"I listened to his thoughts."

Murtagh shivered. The idea of Galbatorix listening to anybody's thoughts was frightening, let alone invading the privacy of a defenceless unborn dragon. A person's mind was his last refuge. That Galbatorix had stolen Murtagh's mind was the worst possible punishment.

"Besides," the king continued, "I need to grow Thorn if you want to ride him any time soon. You do want to learn, don't you?"

"Yes," said Murtagh quickly. "But it won't…hurt him, will it?"

"Of course not!" Galbatorix exclaimed. "A pinch here and there, perhaps some minor inflammation, but in the end a better dragon for it. I imagine it will be quite the sight when we fly out to meet the Varden together. " He smiled, a familiar faraway look in his eyes. "That is the day the Varden will finally be brought to heel. The resistance will be crushed, and peace will reign throughout my empire."

Murtagh shivered, despite the warmth of the dining hall. "Why don't you fight them yourself, then?" There was a slightly accusatory tone to Murtagh's voice. It was not as if he wanted the Varden to lose, he was just genuinely curious as to why the king and his dragon did not simply face the rebellion themselves. The Varden's meagre contingent of sorcerers would be no match for Galbatorix's strength. "You could end this war right now."

"We are full of questions today, aren't we, Murtagh?" said Galbatorix, almost laughing. "I am simply biding my time, waiting for the opportune moment. Why strike now, when we can crush them on my own terms? You are untrained and unprepared. The Varden are strong now; they come off a victory. I will let them become complacent and weak, and then destroy them at my leisure."

"And you think Thorn and I will be ready by then?"

Galbatorix rolled his beady black eyes. "Yes, I do, or I would not have brought you here in the first place. Not to worry, Murtagh. All will be well."

As they completed their meal and the heaps of food were cleared away, Galbatorix lead Murtagh and Thorn through a door behind the head table to a small antechamber. There were no windows; the room was lit only with torches hanging on the walls and the two large candelabra that stood beside a wooden table. To Murtagh's surprise, his hand-and-a-half sword was lying on the table, still in its sheath, along with his dagger.

"As you can see, I took the liberty of having your weapons brought here in advance," said Galbatorix. "I too have brought my favourite weapon." He pulled aside his ornate robes to reveal a pure white scabbard strapped to his hip. "I relieved Vrael of this sword, which I call Vrangr, when I killed him. He was unfit to carry it, just as he was unfit to lead the Riders. But that is a tale for another time."

Murtagh took up his sword from the table, suddenly uncertain.

"Come now, Murtagh, it is only a test. I need to be able to appraise your skill level."

Thorn nodded his scaly head. Do it, he said. I want to see the claw-things.

Murtagh nodded, and turned to face the king.

A/N: Not too many changes in this chapter other than the results of condensing it. The only thing I needed to fix was the description of Galbatorix's sword, which I originally had as black. I really loved the description of the colour in the book, white like "sun-bleached bone." It may screw some things up later on, but I think I managed to fit the new description in nicely enough.

- Miss Maddie