Thorn and Misery

by Miss Maddie

After Murtagh is kidnapped and taken to Uru'baen, he is not seen until the end of Eldest. This is my take on how he became the Empire's Rider and Galbatorix's slave.

19. Chapter 19

Thorn and Misery - Chapter 19

Galbatorix and Murtagh rested as they sipped at their flasks of faelnirv. The king had been drilling him in the ancient language for hours, and Murtagh was exhausted. He had been forced to chant long and complicated phrases, and Galbatorix was not satisfied until he could recite the spells with absolute perfection. Sometimes he had to say the words several times over, until both the pronunciation and the desired effect were satisfactory, both of which sapped his energy. It was a relief simply to lounge in the grass of their practice field and drink the elven liquor, relaxing as his strength was replenished.

Suddenly, Galbatorix turned to him and said, "Shruikan and Thorn intend to stay out late today – something about favourable wind patterns, I believe. We now have several hours at our disposal, and I think it's time you start learning about dark magic."

Upon hearing this, Murtagh inhaled a rather large amount of faelnirv, coughed and rolled to his hands and knees. Tears fell from his eyes as the sweet, thick liquid burned through his lungs. Galbatorix thumped him on the back as Murtagh, half blinded, half choked, gasped, "W – What?"

Galbatorix shook his head and hid a small smile behind a hand. "Dark magic, Murtagh. The power you need to truly become a Dragon Rider."

Wiping the tears from his eyes, Murtagh asked, "Why isn't the magic I already have enough?"

Galbatorix smirked. "Dark magic is exponentially more powerful than the magic with which you are familiar. It is a vastly complex art that provides untold numbers of new ways in which to apply the ancient language to do your bidding. If you know what you want, dark magic can grant it to you. If you know who your enemies are, dark magic can strike them down."

"Then I should have gone straight to dark magic, don't you think? Why did we waste time with the simpler form of magic?"

Galbatorix rose and pulled Murtagh to his feet. He led him over to a table and they sat down. Murtagh gazed over the western horizon, admiring the picture the setting sun made through the streaked clouds. The light was soft and grey, lending a calm tone to the overcast sky. It had been raining off and on through the better part of the day, and the air was humid and cool.

Galbatorix pulled Murtagh's attention back to himself and continued. "You have to walk before you can run, Murtagh – or at least, most people do. Dark magic requires an acute control of one's mind and senses. It is easy to let the power, which almost has a consciousness of its own, slip from your control. That is why you had to master simple magic first, to get the feel for it. But even that cannot compare to the real experience. The weak of spirit do not attempt to control dark magic for fear it will destroy them."

"I am not weak," Murtagh objected.

"Of course you aren't. Don't worry, Murtagh. I have complete confidence that you possess the force of will necessary to wield dark magic. Your mind and body are strong and you know no fear – only the desire for power."

Murtagh gaped. "But I don't – "

Galbatorix cut him off. "Yes, power, Murtagh. You hide the longing from yourself, but not even you can conceal it from me. I know your deepest desires, even if you do not. I can see that you lust to possess a power to raise you above others, your brother especially. And your father, too."

Murtagh was stunned. Where was Galbatorix getting this?

Galbatorix nodded grimly. "You wish to overshadow Morzan. You want to prove to yourself that your existence is not simply the fluke result of a coupling between two of the most powerful magic users the world has ever known: your father and his Black Hand. You have the opportunity to outshine even their greatest accomplishments if you will only learn what you must to control dark magic."

Murtagh didn't know how Galbatorix was drawing these conclusions. Even as he tried to deny them, he knew that his attempts were pointless. Murtagh could see that what Galbatorix said was true. If he was going to be honest with himself, he had to admit that. But Murtagh also knew that there was nothing wrong with wanting to rise above those who could not raise themselves.

"Exactly my point, Murtagh," said Galbatorix. "Wanting to control others is not a shameful desire. The people of my Empire are not capable of self-government. They need those like you and me to guide them to their full potential. Without us, they are sheep without their shepherd.

"You are better that other people, Murtagh. You must understand that. You can help me rule a peaceful Empire, with no need for war and rebellion. Everyone will be happy. So few are cut from the same cloth as you and I that we you must not let yourself, your power and your talents, go to waste. Your life is more valuable that those of the common people. They do not have your knowledge. In time, your wisdom will outreach theirs as well."

Murtagh agreed with Galbatorix there. He had known for a long time that he was suited to a better life than that of a lonely vagabond. Being a Dragon Rider, with all the power that that offered to him, was no less that Murtagh deserved.

"It is obvious, then, why the learning of dark magic is essential to your growth as a Rider," said Galbatorix. The two of them rose to a standing position.

"If this magic is so powerful, why don't the elves practice it? I though they were masters of the ancient language."

"As I have told you before, the elves are weak. They do not know of dark magic, they do not practice it; in fact, they flee from its power. They are cowards, champions of the meek, who refuse to see the true potential of dark magic. They are the ones who so wrongly named it in the first place. 'Dark' magic does not apply in the least to a power with such capabilities."

"And what are these capabilities?"

"Of course. Let us begin. Close your eyes, and look inside yourself."

As Murtagh had done on many an occasion, he let his eyelids drift closed as he focused his attention on his inner self. Even Galbatorix's presence in his mind faded as he concentrated on feeling absolutely nothing.

"Let the darkness fill you," instructed Galbatorix in the barest of whispers. "The light is harsh, it is bright, and it hurts. Turn away from the burning, and embrace the cool relief of darkness. It soothes the pain, and it eases your discomfort. You can hear the shadows – hear their whispers. They guide you, and they are the fuel of your power. Can you feel the power Murtagh?"

"I can feel it." Murtagh had almost forgotten the king was there, absorbed as he was in their exercise. He had been incredulous at first, but then he had started to feel a slight tingling sensation in the back of his mind. As he listened, the whispers, each separate voice no more discernable than the puffs of wind through the trees, became clearer, louder, until it was as if millions of tiny, irate beings were shouting at him from inside his own head. The sound was not unlike that which he had heard when Galbatorix had used spirits to grow Thorn.

"Yes," breathed Galbatorix. "This is what those fools refused to show me. The secrets of dark magic were forbidden to us as young Riders. It was an entirely untapped reserve of power, at least until I discovered it. If it had only been unlocked sooner, then perhaps we could have avoided the Dragon War altogether." Galbatorix circled Murtagh like a cat about to pounce. "How do you feel?" he asked.

"I'm – I'm angry." The realization surprised Murtagh. He hadn't recognized the cold fury pounding through him until Galbatorix had asked, but know he could feel it stronger than ever. Murtagh didn't know where it had come from, but he found himself shaking with suppressed rage. The voices in his head had risen to shouts, the cacophony inside him drowning out all else.

"Are you ready, Murtagh?'

"Tell me what I must do."

"Oh, I think it would be better if I simply allowed you to try dark magic for yourself." Galbatorix snapped his fingers. "If you are going to practice," he said, "I need the experience to be as real as possible."

Murtagh turned as a line of bound, gagged people emerged from the door. Their ankles were chained to a long rope as thick as Murtagh forearm and braided with steel threads. The chains were relatively loose, but still tight enough that the best the people could manage was a slow walk. If any of them tried to run, they would trip, and the entire line would fall.

Slaves.

There were men and women both, all shaved bald and wearing nothing more than filthy loincloths. There were deep cuts in the skin of their chests, new slashes over old scars. Some of those scars bled freely, as if they had been recently reopened. Several ferocious-looking guards circled the line lazily, leering at the women and whispering to each other. Occasionally, one of them would prod the slaves that didn't move fast enough with the tip of his spear. A few of the guards carried whips, which explained the angry red welts on the skin of their charges.

Murtagh had to suppress the low growl that was growing in the back of his throat. He despised slavers.

One of the guards pulled a painfully thin slave from the rear of the line, removed the wad of black fabric that gagged her and thrust her to her knees in front of Murtagh. It took him a moment to realize she was female. The woman was perhaps thirty, though it was hard to tell her age through the grime. She was hollow-eyed and bony, and had the pinched look of someone who had not eaten a decent meal in months.

"Please!" she begged, tears falling freely down her face. "Please, I have little ones! They need me!" The slave crawled forward on her hands and knees and seized the hem of Murtagh's shirt. He stepped back with a cry of disgust. Murtagh found himself indifferent to this woman's plight. He wished she would stop whining.

The woman crumpled, her emaciated form racked with sobs. "Please, let me go!" she wailed. "My children! Mari! Lenna! Caleb! They'll die if I – "

Suddenly, the slave was cut off mid-cry. She clutched at her throat, her eyes bulging with terror. She tried to scream, but no sound came out. Panicking, the woman's eyes rolled back in her head and she fainted, landing with a heavy thump in the grass.

The other slaves watched in terrified silence.

It took several seconds for Murtagh's fury to begin to ebb.

Galbatorix stepped over and flipped the slave with the toe of his boot so that her limp form faced upwards. Prying her mouth open with his thumb and forefinger, the king peered inside and smiled. Then he waved a hand in the direction of the group of slaves. Immediately they all gazed pointedly away from the fallen woman. Murtagh knew that the king had temporarily diverted their attention so that they could speak without being overheard.

"Congratulations, Murtagh!" Galbatorix exclaimed. "I must admit I did not expect such a excellent result from your first try."

Murtagh frowned in confusion. "But I didn't do anything."

"Oh, but you most certainly did, Murtagh. Come and see."

Murtagh knelt beside Galbatorix and looked into the unconscious woman's mouth. To his intense surprise, he saw nothing at all. Past the woman's yellow half-rotted teeth, all that was left of her tongue was a gaping hole at the back of her throat. There was no blood; the wound was clean. In fact, there didn't appear to be a wound at all.

"Her tongue. It's just…gone," Murtagh whispered in awe.

"Gone," said Galbatorix, considering the word. "Yes, I think that's an appropriate term. Gone. Vanished."

"How?"

"Not how, Murtagh, but why. It is gone because you wanted it to be."

"I wanted -?"

"Of course," Galbatorix replied calmly. "If I remember correctly, you wanted the slave woman to stop her blathering. As you can see, she has."

"But I didn't say anything, or point, or…"

"You didn't need to. Your force of will, fuelled by the anger that comes with accessing dark magic, was enough to produce the spell. That must be why you are so naturally gifted at dark magic," said Galbatorix. "You're good at being angry."

The king continued. "This woman's tongue has not been cut out; it has simply ceased to be. It is as if it was never there at all. Even if you had used the ancient language, you would still have a severed tongue to deal with. Think of it this way - you can kill someone, but their dead body will remain. You can blind a man, but his unseeing eyes will still reside in his head. Instead, the use of dark magic can banish the object of your focus from life itself. Therefore, if you killed a person with dark magic, the body would disappear completely. The man would be blind not because his eyes have stopped functioning properly, but because he has no eyes at all."

Then a thought came to Murtagh. "Whatwould happen if you banished a living person?" he inquired. "Does it work the same way?"

Galbatorix paused, frowning slightly. "Imagine that," he said quietly. "A spell to stop a person from being. As you have rightly pointed out, Murtagh, killing a person with dark magic is not the same as banishing him. Even if you were to kill him, the soul would be severed before the body disappeared. I would have to think that, were the magic used on a living person, the soul would depart as well. I shall have to consider it further."

Murtagh shivered. "When you say depart," he said, trying to keep his mind off his horror, "where is it that these objects go, exactly?"

"They are, as you so rightfully put it, gone," answered the king. "Not even I know where it is that they go. It is a world other than the one that we inhabit, that I can say for certain."

Murtagh scoffed. "You mean to tell me that there is another world somewhere, full of bodies and eyeballs and tongues?"

"Yes and no," said Galbatorix said thoughtfully, ignoring the skepticism in Murtagh's tone. "They cease to be - I'm afraid that's as clear as I can make the concept." The corners of his mouth twitched slightly. "Banished objects are - if you'll pardon the pun - neither here nor there."

Murtagh stared. He had been in the king's company for over a month, but this was the first time that Galbatorix had actually sounded mad.

"You have to understand, Murtagh, it's a very complex art. I don't know the details, but, well, I don't need to. I only need to know that it works."

Well, thought Murtagh. That doesn't make one whit of sense.

Galbatorix rose and dusted off his robes. "I don't expect you to understand it right away, but the point remains that if you know the basics, you can perform the spell. There is no need to delve further into this branch of dark magic when we have what we need already."

That made Murtagh uneasy. If Galbatorix didn't know everything there was to know about this power, how could he use it safely? What if there were more consequences to using dark magic than were immediately apparent?

Galbatorix looked Murtagh in the eye as he pulled him to his feet. "Murtagh, I discovered dark magic. I am the only one who knows anything about it."

"But –"

Galbatorix raised a hand. "No more, Murtagh. I will not have you questioning my judgement. I know what I need to know and that is the end of that."

Murtagh was still burning with curiosity, but he knew it would be far wiser simply to let the matter drop.

"Now," continued Galbatorix, "I think we should wake our friend here." He snapped his fingers and the woman's brown eyes popped open with such vigour that it was hard to believe she had been out cold a second before. As soon as she was again conscious, the woman resumed the scrabbling at her throat, feeling for the tongue that no longer was.

Galbatorix gently pulled the woman's hands away from herself. "Enough of that," he told the slave. "As you have no doubt noticed, my apprentice has succeeded in removing your tongue. I'm afraid you will never speak again."

The woman's eyes widened and filled with tears. She shook her head wildly, once again trying to claw at her neck, but Galbatorix held firm. The tears fell thick and fast as she emitted a low gurgling noise, the most sound her ruined throat could manage.

"It's really not a problem, you know," he said. "I much prefer slaves that are mute. They aren't nearly as contrary."

Galbatorix stood and let the sobbing slave rise on her own. He snapped his fingers again, and one of the guards that had led the line of slaves shook himself from his stupor and stepped forward. The muscular man grabbed the woman's arm and led her, still weeping, back inside the castle.

As Murtagh watched the slave and the guard leave, he felt as sudden pain in his gut. Caught completely unawares by the sharp pang, Murtagh clutched at his stomach and winced.

The pain subsided as quickly as it had come. "What was that?" he demanded.

"Ah, yes," said Galbatorix. "It seems you have discovered the most important rule of dark magic by yourself."

"That it hurts?"

"Actually yes, in a way. I believe you already know the answer. It is the most essential law of regular magic as well."

Murtagh needed no prompting to remember that rule. "Every spell you use takes a toll on your own body. Whatever you do with magic takes the same amount of energy as it would if you did it without."

"Correct. Meaning…?"

"That dark magic has a price as well?"

"Of course." It was impossible to read the expression in Galbatorix's back eyes. "Except that instead of paying in energy, it is your soul that is the price of using dark magic."

"Excuse me?" Murtagh exclaimed, horrified. "My soul?" He groped at his stomach, at the spot where he had felt the excruciating pain not a minute earlier, as if feeling for the part of his soul that had left him.

"Your soul, Murtagh," replied Galbatorix. "It's really nothing to worry about. I've been using dark magic for years and nothing's happened to me. It is my theory, however, that a tiny part of your soul, so infinitesimal that is it undetectable by any magic that I or anyone possesses, now resides in the void where that woman's tongue no longer is."

"That's impossible."

"Do you really think so?" Galbatorix asked. "I've seen things, done things that many would think are impossible, and yet…" the king trailed off, and then said, "But one thing I learned is that everything has a price."

"But you don't expend actual energy," Murtagh pointed out. "Why should there be a price?"

"Because everything, every action in the world, must have a balance. Pay now or later, with your own substance or someone else's, but pay you will. Using dark magic to banish something creates a void where the banished object should be.

"It is comparable to a building, I suppose," said Galbatorix thoughtfully. "If you remove too many of the columns that support the roof, the building is going to collapse. A tiny piece of your soul is sacrificed to fill the vacuum left by the use of dark magic, lest the world itself collapse."