Thorn and Misery - Chapter 18
When Murtagh arrived back at his suite, he discarded his weapons and stepped into the meadow. He wandered aimlessly through the tall grass, deviating from the tramped-down footpath that led from the double doors of his bedchamber to Thorn's shelter. When he came to the tree border, thick enough to be considered a wood, Murtagh leaned against the trunk of one of the tall spruces and let his tired body slide to the grassy carpet.
The meadow was peaceful. The bright sun, almost directly overhead, threw light into even the deepest recesses of the trees. Closing his eyes, Murtagh let the warmth wash pleasantly over him. The tips of his long hair tickled his face in the light breeze, but Murtagh didn't feel like brushing the dark strands away. He relaxed into the soft cushion of grass, and tried to forget the events of earlier that morning. Despite his best efforts, Murtagh found his thoughts wandering back to his duel with Corrin.
He wished the boy hadn't challenged him. Murtagh had tried his best to dissuade him, but Corrin had been too persistent for his own good. Of course Murtagh had accepted in the end.
Murtagh regretted wounding Corrin's pride, but he wasn't about to let him win just to make him feel better. Murtagh had his own pride to consider.
He had to admit, though, Corrin was an adept swordsman. He supposed that he would have to be, if Tornac had trained him. The man was one of the best fighters Murtagh had ever known, except perhaps Galbatorix. He wondered idly where Corrin had learnt the flourished, fancy movements that had eventually led to his defeat – certainly not from his father. One of the first lessons Murtagh had learned from Tornac as boy had been to strike as efficiently as possible.
Murtagh still wondered at the fact that Tornac had children he had never known about. Tornac, his closest friend and teacher, had never even mentioned the fact that he had a son and daughter. Murtagh had met Tornac's wife a few times, a sweet, simple woman by the name of Nora, but he had never imagined that there had been two more members of their family – neither had Murtagh known that Nora, as Corrin had said, knew about magic.
But Murtagh didn't want to think about Corrin or his sister. He would simply do his best to avoid them in the future.
Allowing himself to laze for the first time in weeks, Murtagh drifted into content sleep to the sound of the gentle breeze across the grass.
When Murtagh awoke, the first thing he saw was that he had a visitor. A tiny fawn was curled up beside him, its wide brown eyes staring innocently at him. Its light brown coat was dotted with newborn white speckles, the better to conceal it in the dappled forest light.
Murtagh rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stretched himself awake as he rose to a seated position. During his nap, he had subconsciously stretched himself out on the grass.
"Hello there," he said to the fawn, who continued to stare at him. "You must think I'm a great lazy human, don't you? How long have I been out?"
The fawn simply blinked at him.
Murtagh shielded his eyes with a hand as he looked skyward to check the position of the sun. It was low in the west, partially concealed by a pearly grey layer of cloud. He had been asleep nearly six hours.
Murtagh sighed, concealing a yawn with his hand. He got clumsily to his feet, stretching his stiff arms overhead. The fawn followed his lead. It's thin, spindly legs nearly collapsed under the sudden weight.
Murtagh didn't regret his nap. He knew Galbatorix would be cross that he hadn't practiced the entire day as ordered, but Murtagh didn't care. It felt wonderful to have caught up on the sleep he had steadily lacked over the last few weeks, and to rise when he felt like it.
"I should go," Murtagh said to the fawn. "It's time for supper." He idly scratched the top of its head, and the fawn let its eyes drift contentedly closed. Murtagh gently shooed the fawn off in the direction of the trees. The baby deer scampered happily away.
It was only then that Murtagh noticed the doe gazing serenely at him from between the spruce trunks. The fawn nuzzled her flank when it reached her. The two of them turned into the trees, and, with a flick of their white tails, were gone.
When he arrived at the dining hall, Murtagh saw that a set of double doors had been thrown open so that the majority of Thorn's body could fit into the room. Thick mats had been placed under his feet so that his claws didn't scratch the polished wooden floor.
Both Thorn and Galbatorix were waiting for him.
"You're late, Murtagh," said Galbatorix as Murtagh approached the head table. He smirked. "Did you enjoy your nap?"
"Very much," answered Murtagh, unabashed.
"Come and eat."
Murtagh sat down beside Galbatorix and helped himself to a juicy steak. As they ate, Galbatorix said, "I want to know what happened this morning."
Reluctantly, Murtagh told both Galbatorix and Thorn of his duel with Corrin.
Well, think of it this way, Thorn pointed out when he finished. At least you didn't kill him.
"Oh, lovely," growled Murtagh. "So glad to see that my self-control has improved."
Just then, two servants entered the dining hall, carrying a platter of fish about three feet high. Glancing warily at Thorn's sharp teeth, they set the meal down in front of him.
Thorn sniffed at the food, and his snout wrinkled in disgust. I hate fish, he said. I hate the taste, I hate the smell and I hate all the little bones. They will get stuck in my teeth.
Galbatorix glared at the servants, as if it was their fault that the cooks had prepared unsatisfactory food. "I will have the servants bring something else immediately."
No need. I hunted this morning. I am not hungry. Besides, he said, gingerly pushing the platter away from him with a forefoot, the smell has ruined my appetite.
Murtagh and Galbatorix ate in near silence until the dessert course, a wide array of brightly coloured fruit, was served. Murtagh had never seen such variety. He didn't even recognize most it.
Galbatorix selected a round, pale orange fruit and cut into sections with his knife, handing half to Murtagh. "It's a peach," he said. "Try it."
Murtagh bit into the peach's tender flesh. Soft, creamy sweetness enveloped his mouth. He took another bite. "It's good!" he exclaimed.
"The finest selection of fruit from the orchards of Surda. Their soil is rich and their climate is warm. They can grow food that out northern soil cannot sustain."
This brought to mind a question that had been nagging Murtagh of the better part of his life. "If they can grow such food, then why did you ever let Surda secede in the first place?"
Galbatorix frowned, pondering Murtagh's question. "I was busy building my empire when Lady Marelda betrayed me and Surda became independent," he said finally. "I had much bigger things to worry about than one spit of land, no matter how fertile the soil. I entertain the Surdans' idea of freedom because I need the trade – as you know, the elves and the dwarves will not deal with us. There are plenty of independent organizations within Surda that can obtain invaluable products from the dwarves and are willing to sell them to us."
Murtagh nodded. "But that doesn't explain why you still let them trade with the Varden."
"I know that King Orrin supports the Varden, but I plan to let him continue to do so for the time being. Surda doesn't have the resources to provide for both itself and the Varden for much longer - not if Orrin wants to continue to trade with my empire, which he knows he must. They don't dare openly oppose me because they know that I can crush them whenever the time suits me, and they don't want to beget my wrath by refusing to do commerce.
"Orrin's misguided notion of resistance will beggar his country before long. When that happens, they will have no choice but to submit to my rule. Surda will be back under my control soon enough."
Murtagh saw Galbatorix's point, but it still seemed odd that the ruler of a newly formed empire would have allowed such a sizeable secession.
Galbatorix shrugged. "I admit I should have exercised more control, but it hardly matters now. I have nothing to fear from the Varden, nor from King Orrin of Surda."
Pleased to have his question answered at last, Murtagh continued eating his desert, sampling yet more of the delectable fruit. He tried cherries, dates and figs, and then helped himself to another peach.
When they finished eating, Murtagh walked back to his meadow with Thorn instead of taking the indoor route. The sun was almost behind the western horizon, painting the sky with streaks of orange and pink and turning the few clouds a brilliant shade of violet. The air was beginning to cool, and by the time they reached the meadow, it was dark.
Murtagh sat with Thorn as the dragon readied himself for sleep. "What did you do today?" he asked. It had become a habit of theirs for one to tell the other what he learned during the day.
Master Shruikan is teaching me how to sustain a flame for long periods of time, breathing so that backlash of fire doesn't scorch my throat. Thorn answered. It is very difficult. Thorn settled himself on the pile of hay and gazed sleepily at Murtagh. That little boy should not have challenged you, he said suddenly. He had to have known what would happen.
Surprised at the abrupt change of subject, Murtagh said, "I don't think he did. He was very good."
Not as good as you, though.
"No, not as good as me."
Murtagh leaned back against Thorn's flank and sighed, resolving to put both of Tornac's children out of his mind.