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.

25. Chapter 25

Thorn and Misery - Chapter 25

As the carriage rolled along the cobbled path that led to Furnost's keep, it became immediately clear to Murtagh that the place had not been built as a fortress. The proper was modest in size and construction, really more of a large manor house than a castle. It was gracefully built of light grey stone and wood, nestled comfortably at the edge of a wide, well-kept lawn and backing onto the sweeping birch trees of the Silverwood Forest.

Despite the apparent peacefulness, well-armed guards stood at regular intervals along the ramparts of the curtain wall, their faces grim and their crossbows held at the ready.

Murtagh shifted in his seat in the horse-drawn carriage that had met them at town gates. He could see that many of Furnost's wide, glassed windows had been covered with sheets of wood, the hastily erected fortifications meant to protect against enemy arrow fire.

The gatekeeper surveyed the carriage carefully as it rolled under the iron portcullis, and let them pass with a nod.

"It seems well-guarded," Murtagh whispered to Teresa when they were clear of the gatehouse.

"My father had to pull men from the surrounding countryside to defend it," was her hushed reply. "There just weren't enough soldiers." She shrugged. "We're about as small as it gets, I'm afraid. The only reason there's a keep here at all is because the lake and the forest needed looking after."

Murtagh could see the sense in that. The Silverwood was the largest forest in the Empire, and it was even rumoured that the elves had once had an outpost there. Tudosten was second only to Leona Lake in size, and its southernmost shore was inside Surda's borders. Furnost's proximity to the Beor Mountains could not be forgotten either. In fact, Furnost was in such a favourable position that Murtagh was surprised a larger town had not flourished.

At last they reached a great set of wooden doors: the entrance to the Furnost proper. Teresa smiled widely; Murtagh could tell that she was glad to be home. She had been presented at the ball alongside all the other young nobles who had finished convent school. Though Murtagh had never kept a close interest in such things, he knew Teresa, like the other noblewomen, had been in Teirm since she was thirteen or fourteen. Now that he thought about it, Murtagh supposed that Teresa probably hadn't been home in years.

Murtagh found it hard to imagine Teresa of all people in a convent school, where girls went to learn how to be proper noble ladies, and younger sons could go if they wished to become scholars or priests. She didn't seem the type to be particularly interested in the fine arts of needlepoint and letter-writing.

The driver stopped the carriage with a quiet, "Whoa," and hopped down to lower a small stepladder for Teresa. Before he could get there, however, Teresa leaped from the carriage and threw herself into the arms of the man who stood waiting on the stone steps.

"Papa!" she cried, and hugged him fiercely.

The man who could only be Lord Hector of Furnost laughed, and held her close. "My girl! It's been far too long!" Lifting Teresa off her feet, he spun her around in a circle and set her down, embracing her once more.

Looking a tad put out, the carriage driver lowered the stepladder and gazed expectantly at Murtagh. Not wanting to intrude on the happy reunion, however, he hung back.

It was only then that Lord Hector noticed him. "I see we have a guest," he said, he deep voice slow and measured. He released Teresa and turned to face Murtagh. Now that he was closer, Murtagh saw that Lord Hector of Furnost was stocky and compact in build, shorter than him by about a head. His hair, more grey than sandy brown was cut short and close to his head, the top of which was beginning to bald. His pale blue eyes were deep-set and scored at the corners with wrinkles. Lord Hector's thin-lipped mouth was broad, and looked quick to smile. His tunic and hose, though somewhat rumpled, were spotlessly clean and of excellent make. "Forgive my daughter's exuberance, young master," he continued. Teresa's fair cheeks coloured slightly, but her bright smile did not wane. "How can I help you?"

"Good afternoon, Lord Hector," said Murtagh, stepping down from the carriage. My name is Murtagh." Though he had planned to use the false name, those plans had changed when Teresa had guessed his true identity. Still, he decided, at least for the moment, to drop his damning surname. "I come with a message from King Galbatorix."

"If this is about soldiers," said Lord Hector, suddenly looking a bit cross, "then you may inform his Majesty that I have already sent him all the troops I can spare. The war has touched here, he mustn't forget. We're stretched thin as it is, and I have my own people to protect."

"No, my lord," said Murtagh hurriedly. "It's nothing like that."

"Well then," replied Lord Hector, his slight frown vanishing, "would you not do us the pleasure, Master Murtagh, of joining us for lunch? Surely you would like to rest from the road. We can attend to your business afterwards."

"I appreciate your hospitality, sir," said Murtagh. "I'm afraid I can't stay long, but I won't deny that a meal would be most welcome."

"Excellent! Warren!" Lord Hector called through the door, and a servingman appeared. "Would you please take my daughter's belongings to her chambers? Master Murtagh, what would you like done with your effects? I can have a guest suite prepared for you, if you wish."

Murtagh shook his head. "There's no need for that, sir. I must return to the capital as soon as my business is complete. I'd as soon hold on to my belongings, if it's all the same to you."

"Certainly," replied Hector, "though I must ask that you leave your weapons here."

Murtagh's face darkened. He hated being separated from his weapons. Lord Hector caught Murtagh's look and gave him an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry to have to ask, but we have had many close calls of late. I can assure you that they will remain under adequate guard."

Murtagh nodded. Hefting his pack over his shoulder, he removed his bow and quiver and unclipped his hand-and-a-half sword from the baldric, laying them carefully on the floor. However, Murtagh would not go entirely unarmed. He kept the brace of wrist-knives that Galbatorix had given him – they remained strapped to his forearm, and his dagger was still tucked into his right boot

Teresa said nothing, though by the way her eyes followed his movements, he knew she remembered its presence. She seemed to understand his discomfort at being weaponless, and kept quiet as a servant took Murtagh's sword, bow and quiver.

Falling into step behind Hector and Teresa, Murtagh followed them past the oak doors. As they wound through the corridors, Murtagh could see that the inside of Furnost's keep was as simply elegant as its exterior. Well-made tapestries hung between the high windows, though the sheets of wood blocked the bright mid-day sun and left the hallways far darker than they should have been. Thick woollen rugs in deep shades of green and burgundy muffled their footsteps.

In time, they reached the dining hall. This room was brighter and airier than the corridors had been, and it took Murtagh only an instant to see why: the entire rear wall was a single enormous window, opening onto the Silverwood Forest. Its cut glass panes threw sparkling, multicoloured streaks of sunlight around the wide chamber, while the birch trees outside trembled in the slight breeze.

Though it was beautiful, Murtagh could see that such decoration was unwise in the present climate. The lord of Furnost had undoubtedly seen it too; ten feet of the window nearest the ground had been covered with sheets of wood like the others.

Lord Hector led them to a long table at the end of the hall, where two people were already seated. A pretty blonde woman that looked to be several years older than Teresa occupied the place to the right of the empty head chair. On her other side sat a thin man with curly brown hair and level hazel eyes. They stood as Murtagh, Hector and Teresa approached.

"May I present my eldest daughter, Charlotte, and her husband, Tobias?" said Lord Hector to Murtagh. To the pair, he said, "Master Murtagh comes to us with business from the capital."

The man, Tobias, bowed politely; the lady curtsied, though with some difficulty due to her belly, which was full and round with pregnancy. She straightened, and her husband helped her back into her seat.

Hector directed Murtagh to the seat on his left, while Teresa sat on his other side. After the servants had brought in a lunch of hearty chicken stew, fresh milk and crusty rolls slathered in butter, the Lord of Furnost cleared his throat.

"Forgive, me Master Murtagh, I am being discourteous. The journey was fair, I trust?"

Unsure as to exactly how to describe what had occurred, Murtagh glanced quickly at Teresa. The fleeting look was not lost on Lord Hector, whose blue eyes narrowed shrewdly.

"What?" he demanded, looking at his daughter, "Teresa, what happened?"

She hesitated, and then said, "There was an attack on the road yesterday. We were ambushed by a group of rebels."

Lord Hector clenched his fist tightly around his knife. Charlotte gasped, and Tobias laid a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Was anyone hurt?" Teresa's sister asked.

"A good number of the guards were killed, and some of the nobles," answered Murtagh.

"The nobles?" interjected Tobias suddenly. His voice, a pleasant baritone, was incredulous. "You don't mean to say they tried to help?"

Murtagh nodded grimly.

Tobias scowled. "The fools. They should have known -"

But Lord Hector cut him off. "It is unwise to speak ill of the dead, particularly those who died in such a manner." Turning to Murtagh, he asked, "what of the Varden?"

"They were dealt with. The survivors fled."

"You speak as though you took part in the fighting," Hector observed.

In response, Murtagh gave a noncommittal shrug. "I may have helped a little."

Lord Hector gazed at him thoughtfully but said nothing as servants returned and cleared away the dishes. Their meal finished, Charlotte and Tobias stood and took their leave. Murtagh was grateful that Teresa did not raise a fuss when, at a pointed look from her father, she did the same.

When they were alone, Lord Hector said, "Now, Master Murtagh, we may proceed to your business. What is it His Majesty requires?"

Murtagh swallowed, finding it suddenly difficult to look Lord Hector in the eye. Clearing his throat and staring at Hector's shoulder, Murtagh said, "It has come to King Galbatorix's attention that you have a Dragon Rider's sword in your possession."

Lord Hector's thin lips pressed into a tight line. He seemed to know what was coming. "Go on."

Taking a breath, Murtagh said, "He has ordered me to return the sword to Uru'baen, where it belongs."

Hector's blue eyes flashed in annoyance. He stood, his hands clenched in fists at his sides. "And you think it is your place to decide where my sword belongs?" he asked.

"I say only what His Majesty instructed me to," replied Murtagh, matching the steel in Lord Hector's words and rising in turn. He felt the irritation rise in him. Voice tight and frustration mounting, he said, "I was told return the king's sword to the capital, and I intend to do so. I know Kveykva is important to you, but I suggest you save yourself the trouble and do what His Majesty wants. Then I will leave you and your family in peace."

Lord Hector raised his hand. For a second Murtagh thought the man was going to strike him, but he only snapped his fingers. The footman who had taken Teresa's luggage appeared at his side. "Warren," said Hector tensely, "Return Master Murtagh to his effects. Then, go to the vaults and bring me the sword with the orange blade."

If the footman found the instructions or the manner of their parting at all peculiar, he held his tongue. With a bow, he led Murtagh out of the dining hall and into the long corridor. The doors swung closed behind them, but not before Murtagh caught a glimpse of Lord Hector sinking back into his chair at the head table, his shoulders shaking.

Murtagh's bow, quiver and sword were waiting for him when he and the footman arrived in the small room near Furnost's main entrance. As he slung the bow and quiver over his shoulder and secured the sword at his hip, Murtagh felt the discomfort that had followed him since he had been forced to abandon them wane. When he was unarmed, Murtagh felt as awkward as if he had left a limb behind.

Warren motioned to the chairs in front a tall window, half of which was covered with wood. "It may take some time to retrieve the sword, Master Murtagh. Please, make yourself comfortable."

Murtagh sank into the soft chair and sighed heavily. It had been an exhausting journey and now, as strange as it sounded, all he wanted was to get back to Uru'baen. More than anything, he wanted to be with Thorn. They had been separated for two days. Two long days of uncomfortable silence in the back of his mind, where he had long since become accustomed to feeling the dragon's presence. Though he and Thorn were always connected, that connection was far weaker when they were separated by such great distances, and they could not speak to one another.

Murtagh wanted to lie in the hay alongside Thorn's warm flank. He wanted to fly over the rolling hills surrounding the capital. As much as he hated the master of the house, and much of the company he kept, Murtagh wanted to go home, and be a Dragon Rider again.

As he stared out the high window at the pearly clouds that were gathering outside, Murtagh heard a soft knock at the door, and Teresa poked her head inside.

"I saw father," she said as she took the seat beside Murtagh. "I take it that didn't go well."

Murtagh laughed humourlessly. "You could say that."

"The last few months have been hard on him," said Teresa with a slight frown. "It seems like he worries constantly – the war, and the crops…he hides it well, but I think the strain is getting to him."

Murtagh looked up. "What's wrong with the crops?" he asked.

Teresa's frown deepened. "The king has called nearly all the men from the surrounding country to serve in his armies, even the farmers. Our fields have fallowed because there aren't enough people to plant and tend them. Last year, the harvest was so bad we had to buy grain from Surda."

Murtagh swallowed. Furnost was home to some of the most fertile farmland in the Empire. If their crops were failing, and this early in the season, it spelled disaster for the rest of the country as well. And yet, there had been no mention of it in the reports Galbatorix had had him read.

Teresa sighed heavily. "I think the attack yesterday made father see just how much this war is affecting us – not just Furnost, but all of the Empire. If the king needs men for his armies, we lose farmers and our crops wither and die. If our crops die, we need to buy food we can't afford. Our treasuries are sapped. Eventually, our people will starve."

Looking intently at Teresa, Murtagh was astounded at how much she thought. Hers were not the burdens of most of the young women he knew. While most noble ladies danced and flirted, Teresa cared about wars, weapons and failing crops. She saw how prolonged combat affected not only the soldiers, but also the people and the lives they left behind.

Choosing his words carefully, Murtagh asked, "How much do you know about the rebellion?"

"A little," Teresa answered. "They're called the Varden. They want to bring down King Galbatorix."

"And do you agree with them?"

Teresa blue eyes flashed. Her tone changed, becoming accusatory. "That's no casual inquiry, my lord Dragon Rider," she said, using his formal title for the first time since their meeting and throwing it in his face. "If I answer, how much will reach His Majesty's ears?"

Murtagh ducked his head. "Point taken. But I'm curious."

Teresa chewed her lower lip, considering. When she spoke, it was slow and cautious. "I don't agree with everything the king does. It seems like he forgets about what happens to the rest of the country when his armies go to war. It's almost as though his people don't matter, as long as the rebellion is crushed. But then, if the rebels want his throne, I suppose he has every right to defend it." She stopped when she realized Murtagh was staring. "What?"

"You really understand this, don't you?" he said. "You could be a general. I'm serious!" he exclaimed at Teresa's blush. "I've met veteran soldiers who don't know reasoning and consequences of warfare half as well as you do."

"My father taught me everything I know," Teresa said proudly. "He is a brilliant military strategist."

"It sounds like he taught you well."

Teresa nodded. "He always wanted sons, but he got my sisters and me. He waited and waited, and then when Mama died…" she trailed off, her eyes downcast.

"What happened to her?" Murtagh asked.

"Childbirth," Teresa replied shortly. "She was never very strong, and he came so early…" she gazed sadly at him. "I had a baby brother for twenty-three minutes."

Murtagh gulped.

"That was when my father really started teaching me about weapons," Teresa continued. "He wanted all of us to learn, but my sisters never took to it like I did. I guess I just wanted to make Papa happy, and that's what did it."

"How many sisters do you have?"

"Three. Charlotte's the eldest. Then there's Vivian. She's betrothed to Merrick, the third son of Teirm. They'll be married come August."

"And what about your other sister?"

"Lydia" Teresa answered. The name seemed to leave an unsavoury taste in her mouth, and she frowned slightly. "She's only thirteen months older than me and hostile about it. I don't see her much – she spends most of her time at court." Suddenly, the corners of her mouth turned upwards in a wicked grin. "But I think you had the pleasure of meeting her sister-in-law – a certain giggling friend of yours?"

Murtagh blanched. "You're related to Bethany?"

"Only by marriage, so don't hold it against me. Lucky for me, Lydia's end of the family hates coming here – apparently it isn't grand enough for her, but it suits me fine."

Just then, there was another soft knock at the door. A maid entered and said, "Excuse me, my lady, but your sister wishes to speak with you."

"Thank you, Ilane," replied Teresa. "I'll be along in a minute."

With a curtsy, the maid disappeared.

Teresa stood, smoothing the front of her dress. Murtagh, too, rose.

"I should go," she said quietly, her gaze trained on the floor. "If I don't see you again…" Suddenly, she leaned forward and kissed him swiftly on the cheek. "Goodbye, Murtagh."

Going scarlet, Teresa turned, pushed open the door and fled.

Murtagh slumped back into his armchair, utterly bewildered.