Five:

Suggestion

It was late into the evening when Thorn roused him from the peaceful depths of sleep. Murtagh reluctantly opened his eyes. Is something wrong? He asked Thorn, who was sitting in the corner.

A servant boy just came by, Thorn said. Nasauda has invited us to join her for dinner.

Dinner? Now?

I don't think Nasauda would appreciate it if we were late after all she's doing to keep us from the gallows.

Murtagh sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. How long have I been asleep?

At least two days.

Two days!

Well, birdbrain, if you hadn't ignored me, I could have helped you break the oaths, Thorn said. And then it wouldn't have drained you so.

I said I was sorry.

Just don't do it again. Thorn pointed to a corner where Zar'roc lay. Nasauda brought that by yesterday. Although she seemed a bit hesitant to give it back.

Why?

Gee, I don't know, maybe because it once belonged to a mad man! You almost killed Nasauda with that sword, and it has done evil things, Murtagh. People will remember those sinful deeds for many, many years to come. You should get rid of it.

Murtagh buckled Zar'roc to his belt. Swords aren't evil, Thorn. People are.

Still, Zar'roc has done well to live up to its name; it is nothing but a monument of misery. Your misery. Even Eragon could not change its wicked history.

I'll think about, he said bitterly, pulling his boots on. Thorn may have been right, but he was still somewhat attached to the sword. It was his inheritance, after all, even if it had belonged to the most formidable of the Forsworn, and he wasn't willing to give it up just yet. Let's go.

As they walked through the high, arched corridors, Murtagh noticed the half fixed hole in the ceiling. The roofers were busy laboring diligently to the music of their hammers. One of the roofers noticed Murtagh's gaze. His eyes widened and he hurried away. After all the trouble we've caused, Nasauda's going to an awful lot of trouble in vouching for us, he thought.

She knows that her cause depends on it, Thorn said. Our fate, as well as Alagaësia's depends on this with that foreign army and what not. She also understands our plight and she…

And she what? Murtagh asked when Thorn did not finish.

Oh, you didn't know?

Obviously.

Thorn let out an amused snort and trotted on.

What's so funny?

It's nothing.

The sentries outside Nasauda's office gave them a rather funny look too and they stiffened at the sight of rider and dragon. "Nasauda has called for us," Murtagh told them. The sentry hesitated and nodded reluctantly.

Nasauda was sitting at her desk, her hair done up rather exquisitely. She was wearing at wine-red gown that was long and sinuous, the slim of her bodice embossed with tiny black beads. The handkerchief sleeves draped from her slender elbows, flowing elegantly at her sides. Over all, she looked as stunning as always.

Nasauda looked up from the masses of scrolls pilled on top of her desk and beamed. "I have wonderful news," she said, rearranging the scrolls. Her cheerfulness caught Murtagh off guard. He shifted uncomfortably, trying not to stare.

"Indeed?"

Stop drooling, Thorn teased.

I was not drooling, Murtagh protested.

It's understandable. Nasauda has always had that effect on you.

"I have finally gotten through to the Council of Elders," Nasauda continued buoyantly. "I was right all along; those old goats wouldn't listen at first, but in the end they couldn't even find a suitable argument against Orrin, Arya, and myself."

That is good news, Thorn said.

"But I'm afraid the worst has yet to come. I sent for Orik this morning, and I believe he will give us an honest opinion of what to expect from his kin." She waved a slender hand at an empty chair. "Well, don't just stand there, Murtagh. Sit! We have much to talk about."

Clearing her desk, Nasauda pulled out rather ancient looking map of the Hadarac Desert. "I have an idea," she said, laying the map out neatly between them. "Are you familiar with the nomads who roam the Hadarac?"

Murtagh raised a curious brow. No one really ever paid attention to the nomads who wandered the desert. They were a shy, secretive people who avoided anyone who did not speak their language. "I know a little, but not much. From what I understand they don't associate with people who don't speak their language."

"I asked Arya what she knew of them, and even she couldn't tell me much," Nasauda said. "They've been around since humans first came to Alagaësia. She couldn't tell me exactly why they went into the desert, unlike the other tribes, let alone anything about their culture. " She sighed. "They have secluded themselves so well that they have become a complete mystery even to the elves."

Murtagh nodded. "Their language is dead to the rest of Alagaësia," he said. "Any major records of their history or culture that might have existed have been long since destroyed. All we have are bits and pieces of information, scraps really. So, why do you ask?"

Tapping her fingers, Nasauda stared at the map as if trying to pin point the nomad's exact location. "I was thinking of asking them for help," she said. "But I don't know if they even know what 'war' means. From what I could gather, they don't even both making weapons."

"They don't really have the resources," Murtagh said dubiously. "After all, they live in the desertBesides, even if they did know how to fight, we'd have to find them first. And that could take years!"

Perhaps they use magic to conceal themselves, Thorn suggested. Or maybe they have developed some other way of hiding?

"How do you veil a whole tribe of people in a wide open desert?" Nasauda said. "It's almost absurd how they can hide even from the elves, let alone Galbatorix."

"I don't think Galbatorix is too interested with a bunch of peaceful nomads," Murtagh said with a wry smile. "Especially if they have no brains for war."

"Then I suppose we'll have to do without," Nasauda said with a groan. "They might not even be of much help anyways."

"Well maybe…" he trailed off as a rather flustered looking Orik came barging into the office, heedless of the sentry's protests.

"Nasauda!" Orik cried, throwing his arms up in the air. "What's this I hear you have Hrothgar's murderer—" he saw Murtagh and Thorn, uttered a hateful curse, and reached for his axe. "What is the meaning of this outrageousness? Why isn't he in shackles!

"No," Nasauda said quickly. "I can explain. Murtagh is here to help." She quickly explained the situation. All the while Orik never took his suspicious gaze off Murtagh.

When Nasauda was finished, the dwarf grumbled, "This is insane."

"Insane or not," Nasauda said, crossing her arms stubbornly. "Murtagh has escaped Galbatorix's control and he has agreed to help. Galbatorix is importing an entire foreign army by midwinter of next year. We are in serious trouble, here, Orik. We need as much help as we can get. And Murtagh, here, has already given us an upper hand."

"How so?"

Nasauda smiled. "He has given us Galbatorix's last dragon egg."

Orik's mouth dropped open, then he clamped it shut and turned to Murtagh. "Did you enjoy it?"

"Enjoy what?"

"Taking Hrothgar's life," Orik snapped. "Did you enjoy it?"

"Does a dog enjoy being beaten by its master?" Murtagh said with a dark edge. "Of course not. I never enjoyed fighting against friends."

"Indeed," Orik said grimly. He crossed his arms, stroking his rough beard thoughtfully. Then he sighed and said, "And you will fight alongside the Varden to the end?"

"So long as Nasauda asks it of me."

"And if something were to happen to Nasauda, would you still fight loyally?"

Murtagh glared at the dwarf dangerously. "Are you implying something, Orik?"

"I would never dream of it, but you know what I mean."

Murtagh shrugged. "I won't rebel against the Varden, if that's what you mean."

Orik sighed. "My fellow knurlman will not be pleased with you. Outraged, I think, is a better term to describe their rejoinder. I on the other hand, understand this plight; we do need all the help we can muster up…but not everyone will share my opinion. If you want to win them over, then you had best find a way to redeem yourself. Until then, avoid our cities, less you wish to find your head on a pike."

Typical, Murtagh thought.

No one said this would be easy, Thorn echoed.

It never was.

A/N: It was mentioned in Eragon that there were nomads living in the Hadarac Desert. Murtagh said they hide their water wells too well laughs at stupid pun. I remember because, well let's face it; he's the absolute best!

What the freaking hell Mr. P!

You mention nomads and then you totally forget about them? I was expecting you to do something with these mysterious wanderers. Since you haven't done anything with them, you have left me no choice but to take matters into my own hands.

I'd like to once again thank you reviewers.