A/ n: A special thanks to CaramelBoost, the fastest beta reader in the west...or east...er...Thanks reviewers! I'm so glad you guys don't think I'm going to fast!

Twenty Three

Unseelie

Murtagh had canoodled a few times before, but none could compare to canoodling with Nasuada. Her touch made his insides flare with heat, her lips clogged his throat, and his chest swelled under her hands. It seemed that everything around him was forgotten— at least until someone knocked at the door.

They broke away, slightly. Nasuada glared at the door, hidden from view behind the dressing screen. "Yes?" she called impatiently.

Nasuada didn't seem to mind when Murtagh kept her in his arms. They were, after all, separated from sight by the screen that separated her privet quarters from her office.

"Miss Trianna is here to speak with you," said a sentry.

"I'm a little busy at the moment." She kissed Murtagh on the cheek.

The sentry hesitated. "Miss Trianna says that you asked her to come immediately, milady. What shall I tell her?"

Nasuada whispered a short curse. The blade had finally come to cut them apart, destroying the dream. "I forgot," she whispered. "I was going to assign her to a mission."

"You can talk to her tonight," he said. "She's not going anywhere." It was useless, though, and he knew it. Trianna was going somewhere— to the Hadarac.

"No, I think I should talk to her now." She kissed him again. "Get dressed. And stop acting like I'm leaving you forever. Love is continuous and unending. Remember?"

"My lady?"

"One moment please."

She changed into a different dress, red with soft, white curtain sleeves. Examining herself in the mirror, she straightened her hair up a bit. For a moment, Murtagh envied the mirror. Women gave so much attention to those blasted mirrors!

"I suppose I will see you later then," he said, slipping back into his tunic and breeches.

Nasuada pulled her eyes away from the mirror, smiling crookedly. "I've not finished with you just yet." She turned back to the mirror. "Tonight, Orrin is holding a pre-wedding dinner with his nobles. Roran and Katrina are, of course, the guests of honor, and they asked if you would come. Roran said that he is only three quarters convinced you are good, but I think he was only joking."

"Country men have an odd sense of humor," Murtagh observed.

Nasuada smiled. "Perhaps, but you know what Katrina said to me then? She told me that breaking the leather in wasn't too difficult All it takes is a bit of work, some friction, and the man is as lithe as buckskin— soft but durable!"

Murtagh raised a dark brow. His face was a little red too. "That little red haired mouse told you that?"

"She's not that much of a mouse anymore," Nasuada said. "You were probably too sick to remember, but she perked up as we reached Surda."

"At least she can make up for Roran's bad humor," Murtagh muttered.

When Nasuada was ready, she sat herself at the desk and called Trianna in. Murtagh positioned himself at the window, trying not to be seen. The woman named Trianna came in, curtsied stiffly, and said with in a sour tone, "You called, my lady?"

Nasuada leaned back in her chair, folding her hands over her lap. "I have a mission for you, Trianna."

Trianna raised her small chin. "Du Vrangr Gata and I are ready for anything, as always."

"This is a single man— well, woman— assignment." Nasuada reached under her desk and pulled out a scroll, unfolding it over the desktop to reveal a map of the Hadarac Desert. There were colored lines marking the map. "You will be going to the Hadarac to find the nomads. I want you try to find out more about this thing called Halali, and see if they know anything about where we, the humans, came from. I'll even settle for any old stories. Also, I want you to try and convince them to help us. In return, we will abolish slavery entirely." She went into further detail of what she wanted. She also explained how to find water in the desert, like Eragon had done when they were trekking the sandy wasteland. The Nasuada ran her finger along the lines on the map.

"One of the elves noted that the tribes tend to follow a well thought out rout," Nasuada went on. "Their routes are determined by the seasons and the availability of food during that time. Since it is summer, we are assuming they have moved towards the outer edges of the desert. This is your mission. I am counting on you, Trianna. It may prove vital to our survival. Any questions?"

Trianna shook her head. "I will not fail you," she said.

Nasuada handed her the map. "Good. You will leave the day after tomorrow. I wish you the best of luck."

Trianna curtsied and scurried out of the room. When she was gone, Murtagh said, "Why not send Eragon or I? We've been in the desert before."

"Arya said that she was going to discuss Eragon's training and mine," she said, half grudgingly. "She requested that Eragon remain here, if it could be helped until she consulted with her mother. As for you," she smiled, "who would keep me warm at night?"

As Murtagh opened his mouth to answer, an unseen force suddenly slammed into him, knocking him to his knees. Invisible claws tore at his shoulders, ripping down his spine. Thorn's roar of anguish and frustration shook his thoughts like thunder.

Nasuada was at his side instantly. She said something, but he hardly heard her as heavy blows battered his head and sides. He pushed her away and stumbled to the window, searching the sky.

Thorn?

Nothing. Then, in the wheat fields, he spotted a patch of black wiggling underneath a cloud of smoke. He saw a glint of crimson underneath what looked from a distance like a swarm of black fleas.

Panic arose. He called out again, but there was no answer.

Murtagh's nose burned with the stench of smoldering flesh and mold. He could almost taste the smoke in his mouth. Images of black things the size of a large dog, with smashed faces, and long twisting horns flashed through his mind. There were hundreds of them. He could feel the claws on their webbed mitt digging into Thorn's scales.

I'm hurrying, he said, but Thorn only roared, stampeding through the wheat fields in a frenzied charge, trying to shake the monsters off. Murtagh took a breath, and then said without taking his eyes off the sky, "Grab Garth."

Nasuada laid a concerned hand on his shoulder. "What's wrong?"

Murtagh cursed. "Thorn's been attacked." His insides were numb. He couldn't feel the panic, nor fear, just the pain and the numbness. Finally, he hurried away from the window, snatched his sword from the bedpost, and fastened it to his waist.

"Monsters," he said at Nasuada's inquiring gaze. "I don't what they are, but there are hundreds of them!"

Nasuada cursed. "You're sure it's monsters?" She had to drag Garth out from under the desk, leaving little tears in the carpet where Garth had dug his claws into the floor.

"What else could it be?" He kept his voice under control, but his hands shook violently as he fitted the gauntlets. "Look, keep a close eye on Garth. Guard him with your life. He's not big enough to defend himself yet." Going for the door, Nasuada snagged him around the elbow.

"Where are you going?"

"To help Thorn." He pulled away, but Nasuada kept her grip firm.

"Where?"

"The wheat fields. On the south side of Aberon."

"I'll send soldiers with you," she said.

Murtagh shook his head. "It'll take too long to send for them, and you need your sentries here."

"Then I'll send for Eragon," she quickly. She kissed him lightly and hastily. "Don't die."

Murtagh forced a weak smile. "Send for him, then, and keep your men on alert."

---

On foot, it took Murtagh nearly ten minuets to reach the city's outer limits. He ran the entire way. He waded through the waist-high wheat towards Thorn. The monsters clung to him, biting and scratching viciously. They were everywhere, either dead on the ground in a smoldering sea of black liquid or charred, smashed bodies, or leaping out of the wheat at Thorn. What was worse was the smell of rot, smoke, and mold.

Fire spewed from Thorn's maw as he thrashed about rearing and spinning like a horse gone mad. When he could not get them off, he flung onto his back and rolled, smashing the goblins with his bulk.

Stop! Murtagh told him, ducking as a stream of inferno passed over his head. Watch it!

Get them off! Thorn roared.

"Hold still!" Murtagh shouted impatiently. Then, a good-sized gobbling was flung through the air and plummeted into Murtagh. It knocked him to the ground, biting and scratching viciously. He felt its hot, reeking breath press against his face and gagged.

Struggling, Murtagh reached for his knife and cut into its bony ribs. It howled an earsplitting shriek as Murtagh dug the blade into its bowels. Then he kicked it away and scrambled to his feet.

Hold still, he told Thorn, trying to sound calm as he stuck an attacking goblin between the horns. I can't get them off of you if you keep squirming like that.

Finally, Thorn put a stop to his thrashing, tilted his head towards the sky, and belted a deafening roar, releasing a geyser of yellow-orange fire. Murtagh wasted no time. With a few words of the ancient language, he peeled the monsters off with magic and flung them away. He shouted, "Scoal!" and they combusted, shattering small fragments of bone and flesh, and spraying black blood everywhere.

Next, Murtagh opened his mind and searched the wheat field. He found hundreds of them! All ready to attack. Using scoal and a few other words, he destroyed myriad numbers, showering the fields in a rain of black. As he went through layers and layers of goblins, they eventually stopped attacking. He could still sense them lingering in the bloodied wheat, waiting silently, bellies gurgling. Murtagh estimated there were hundreds left, but they only waited.

Murtagh kneeled next to Thorn. Flames and smoke still seeped through his bloodied teeth. A thread of blood hung from his nose. You okay?

Thorn growled, teeth jaw trembling furiously. He wheeled an ochre eye at the surrounding wheat, and issued a nasty snarl, daring the enemy to come at him again.

Thorn.

What?

Let me heal you.

Here? He flicked his tail, annoyed.

Yes.

Then he lay on the ground in the blood and gore, eyes blazing like balls of wild fire as he watched his surroundings closely. He was wounded all over. His wings were torn in various palaces, and long, deep lacerations covered his back, neck, and shoulders. Murtagh took care of the worst, listening carefully to the hissing in the wheat. They were slowly edging closer, and when they came too close he shouted, "Scoal!"

The explosion sent them scurrying away. Murtagh returned to his task. What are they?

Hell if I know, Thorn growled.

They just attacked you? Where did they come from?

I was flying over the field, and a giant thing with wings attacked me. I killed it of course, but my wing was torn so I landed in the field, and they attacked. He snorted a ball of black smoke. They could have come from Vroengard.

Vroengard?

Don't you remember? Galbatorix said there were monsters on Vroengard. They came out of the sea shortly after the Riders were defeated, and the city was laid in ruins. I think they were named Unseelie.

Murtagh frowned. He couldn't remember ever talking about Vroengard with Galbatorix. He thought back, and realized that there were many empty blocks in his memories during his training. Why don't I remember this?

Perhaps it's because you don't want to remember, so you don't recall it.


He finished healing a deep cut in Thorn's left thigh, and began fixing a jagged wound on his neck. What else don't I remember?

Various accounts of torture, I would think. Do you remember the man in the bearskin? With the elk horns? He carried a club.

No.

It was shortly after one of your torture sessions with the dungeon master. Your arm was out of place, and the burns on your hands were healing slowly when we saw the man-beast at the castle gates from the ramparts. Galbatorix never introduced us, but he when you asked about it he said mentioned only a messenger.

Murtagh stopped the spell. A messenger? From where?

Where else but the land across the sea?

Murtagh glared. Why didn't you tell me that sooner? It could have helped Nasuada!

You never asked, and it's nothing vital that would have made a difference.

A man beast, Murtagh said thoughtfully. He could barely grasp the memory of the hunched figure cloaked in a heavy bearskin, with long, white antlers rooted in its skull. It hardly looked like a man at all, expect that it marched through the streets in a human-like strut, and its face was hidden under the bear skull.

Nasuada still needs to know.

If you say so.

A/n: I'm so glad I got this out. The Unseelie have been scratching my brain for some time now. Whew!

Thanks again reviewer! I love you guys!