Chapter 11

Murtagh sighed. I know you don't like it, Thorn, but we have little choice.

The ruby dragon snarled. We'll be attacked on sight! Besides, how are we going to transport her all the way to the Beors?

Murtagh rubbed his temples. She'll sit in the saddle in front of me; I can either cast spells to prevent her from falling or rig straps that she can hold onto.

And what makes you think that we won't cause a war with the dwarves by showing up on their territory unannounced? And who's to say that the dwarves will take her in the first place?

They must. We'll make our way to Farthen Dur; it's best that we speak to Orik first, and let him handle it from there.

Again, assuming we aren't attacked!

What choice do we have? Murtagh snapped. At that the dragon fell silent. Murtagh rubbed his partner's side. I didn't mean to get sharp with you. I'm just worried, that's all. There's no guarantee that our presence won't have negative consequences; and I'm nowhere near naïve enough to think that we'll be welcome there. But it's the only option we have.

Thorn's fierce red eyes softened, and he bumped Murtagh lightly on the shoulder with his enormous snout. I know. He rumbled lightly in his chest. It's always an option to keep her with us. I'd be lying if I said I haven't grown fond of the child as of late. She's sweet and kind, and she needs someone large to look after her.

Murtagh had been surprised at the speed at which Thorn and Dahnia had bonded. The dwarf girl was delighted with her new dragon friend, and seemed to regard him with reverence and awe. Since the first night she had slept at Thorn's side, she hadn't slept in any other place. As for Thorn, it never ceased to amaze Murtagh how a fierce creature such as the red dragon had grown to care for another being other than his Rider. Thorn had despised Shruikan and feared Galbatorix, although he often thought of Saphira; even though they had been enemies for most of Thorn's life, he admired her glittering scales, her strong spirit, and her prowess in combat. Actual love or friendship, though, had been reserved only for Murtagh until five days ago, when they first rescued the child.

And Murtagh himself had also developed a fierce protectiveness over her. For the first time in his span as a Rider, here was a person who didn't cower from him in fear, look upon him with hatred, or seek to use him to their advantage. She adored Murtagh and went out of her way to make him laugh. Since they had rescued her, a hole that seemed to gape in his heart almost felt as if it were shrinking. The dark thoughts that gathered in his mind seemed to fizzle and fade away when the tiny girl smiled at him.

He shook his head sadly at Thorn's suggestion. That isn't an option either. What kind of life could we give her? Always traveling from place to place, no roof over her head, no nice things, no woman around to give her advice as she grows? No children to play with, nothing we can skill her in, no dwarven knowledge whatsoever? No, she deserves to be with her people.

It was a decision that left him feeling a little hollow inside.

Thorn snorted. We can always wait a few more days, you know.

For what? It's been five days. No one is coming.

Maybe we should ask her what she wants.

She can barely speak our language; in any case, she's only a child. I care about her opinions, yes, but in this case, this is what's best for her.

Thorn didn't answer; he knew that his partner was right, even if he loathed to admit it. He examined a long ivory claw. In any case, we shouldn't travel south. Too many cities; we'll attract the wrong kind of attention. We should continue north, around the edges of Du Weldenvarden. From there, we can skirt the edges of the Haderac Desert and from there, the Beors.

It was Murtagh's turn to remain silent. The path that Thorn suggested would take at least two weeks; however, he was right. To go south would mean crossing over countless villages and cities. They could avoid them, but it would mean flying at night and many different changes in course. He disliked the idea of being so close to the elven forest, but he decided that if they kept their distance the elves might not retaliate.

He patted Thorn's side and crossed over to the fire, where a haunch of deer was roasting. He turned the spit so the meat would cook evenly, and glanced around for Dahnia. Fear clutched his heart when he didn't see her. He reached out with his mind, not looking for hers exactly, for her mind hadn't lowered its barriers at all since they found her, but for her armored consciousness. He called out for her urgently, and relaxed when he saw her hastily make her way back to the camp from a cluster of trees.

He saw she had something hidden behind her back and a sweet smile plastered across her face. He grinned in return and placed a hand on his hip. "What are you hiding?" he asked with mock suspicion. She giggled, and whipped from behind her back a delicate yellow flower on a long green stem. She pressed it into Murtagh's hands.

He was touched. "Thank you, Dahnia," he said.

"No," she said sincerely. "Thank you. Murtagh save Dahnia. Murtagh and pretty Thorn." Her voice lacked the rough, gutteral quality of full-grown dwarves, but it was still a physical effort for her to pronounce some of the words. Her vocabulary had grown at a remarkable pace, and Murtagh usually (if not always) could understand what she was saying. It crossed his mind that it was easier for small children to learn a foreign language than adults, and he wouldn't be surprised if she was speaking his language fluently by the time they reached the Beors.

"You're very welcome," he told the girl. She grinned and skipped in a circle around the fire, occasionally stopping to throw rocks in it. Murtagh smirked at the red dragon. Would you like a flower too, pretty Thorn?

Shut up, the dragon advised, unperturbed. He flicked his tail. Jealousy is unbecoming of you. Of course, so is your face. I might be jealous too, if I was as ugly as you.

Murtagh cackled, and Thorn chuckled along with him. It occurred to Murtagh that the two of them were in lighter spirits than they'd ever been. Dahnia glanced at them, curious. She remained that way for several minutes, gazing at them intently, and Murtagh knew from experience that she was trying to puzzle something out.

Sure enough, she walked over to Murtagh and glanced from him to Thorn and back. She hesitated and said, "How do that?" She shook her head and tried again. "How.,.how talk, Murtagh and Thorn?"

Murtagh was about to ask how she came to the conclusion that he and Thorn talked at all, then decided it was pretty obvious- from glances, unprompted expressions and actions- that the two of them communicated.

"Well…" It was his turn to hesitate. He pointed at his skull. "Minds," he said finally. "Thorn's voice is in here."

She beamed. "Can Thorn talk Dahnia?" she asked.

He was dumbfounded. Did she not know she was shielding her mind? He shook his head. "Dahnia's…your…mind is shielded. Thorn can't feel it, to talk. Neither can I," he added almost as an afterthought.

The child giggled. Murtagh frowned. What was so funny? She was snickering, and a devilish light flickered in her eyes, as though she were hiding something.

"Sorry," she giggled. She struggled to think of the right word. "Forgot."

Then she took off her silver and topaz bracelet and suddenly the walls surrounding her mind crumbled. Murtagh could feel her consciousness pressing against his, although he avoided delving into it; minds, even that of a child, were personal. After having his constantly violated by the Galbatorix, he had developed a new sanctity for privacy. However, it was impossible not to feel the emotions that she suddenly thrust upon him; deep, sincere gratitude for her rescue and the kindness he had shown her, a blind devotion to, and admiration of, Thorn, the eagerness she felt to fully master Murtagh's speech, and the sorrow, on its way to being healed but still there, that underlay her every thought.

She must have been exposed to having another person touch her mind and read her emotions, as well as communicating with them, because she didn't shy away and she seemed perfectly aware of Murtagh's consciousness as well. Murtagh found that odd; most people were unaware that someone was touching their mind. He wondered if she could use magic, and decided she probably couldn't. If she could, she could have easily escaped from the slavers.

Closing his eyes, he summoned an image of her bracelet, with an inquiring thought. She sent him another image, this one of a dwarven woman-whether it was her mother or not he didn't know, nor did he ask- giving her the bracelet for her last birthday. From the emotions he felt from her mind, he assumed it was embodied with a spell that somehow shielded her mind for her. He was curious; he'd never heard of such a spell. He assumed that the energy fueling the spell must be contained in the topaz in her bracelet. He was unsure why such a valuable spell had been placed upon the girl's bracelet; did she have something to hide?

He considered asking about her family; where she came from and why they had been so far from home; but decided against it. The information was useless and would only increase her pain to think about it.

He withdrew contact from her, and she stood there, shuffling her bare feet and staring at them. A random thought,

(I should make her some shoes)

crossed his mind and he decided to do just that later. She looked up at him and then pointed from herself to Thorn.

Do you mind? He asked Thorn.

Of course not.

Murtagh nodded and the child beamed. She tucked the bracelet into a pocket on her dress and raced to Thorn's side, where she sat on his foreleg and began to talk to him. Since Thorn's wild ancestors had communicated nearly completely in emotions and images, he had no problem understanding her. Linked as he was with Thorn, Murtagh gleaned a lot of their conversation's meaning. She was curious about the dragons; she had never seen one before, nor been told of them. It seems to me, Thorn remarked to Murtagh, that she's been cut off from the outside world; she knew nothing of the war, or the Riders. Maybe it's because she's very young, but I don't know.

I don't either. It's strange, though.

Thorn began to tell her tales of the Riders, and of the war with Galbatorix and how it was won. He left out most of the unpleasant details, (such as their torture and imprisonment by the king, as well as how they had been forced to serve them) although he didn't conceal from her the battle with Shruikan, and how he and Saphira had helped to kill him. Her eyes sparkled when she learned that there was more than one dragon.

Murtagh left them to their conversation, smiling and shaking his head. Her enthusiasm was catching; she was delighted that she could communicate with the dragon. He supposed it was fine for her to talk as such to Thorn, but he would have to continue teaching her his language; touching minds was too intimate, and she couldn't rely on it as her only form of communication.

He frowned as he realized that soon they would have to leave for the Beors, and that he hadn't told the child yet. He took a drink of water, suddenly worried. He wondered how she would react.

He walked over to the pair and stood beside the girl. "Dahnia," he said. "Come here, I have to talk to you."

He could tell she only understood a handful of the words he said, but his gesture was clear enough and she followed him. He seated her on a log by the fire and crouched in front of her. Her bright brown eyes met his.

He sighed, deciding that she didn't know enough words for her to fully understand what he thought was best for her and what his reasoning was. He raised his eyebrows in a questioning manner and tapped his forehead, then tapped hers. "Talk?" he asked.

She nodded. Her eyes were wary, and he could tell that his concern was showing in his face. Taking a deep breath, he reached out and began to show her, one by one, images and flashes of thought, hoping that she would understand.

When he withdrew, there were tears in her eyes. "No," she said softly, although her eyes were defeated. He had succeeded; she understood. "No, Dahnia stay, no want go-"

He hugged her. He knew it was foolish to show her any sort of affection, not when she was barely getting over her grief; it would only make it that much harder for her to accept the fact that she didn't belong with them. But he couldn't help it. He swore silently. He didn't want her to go any more than she did; but it was necessary. She deserves better than anything Thorn or I could give her.

"It'll be awhile before we get there, Dahnia. Not soon," he said as he relinquished the hug. She dried her tears and offered a small smile in return.

"No soon?" she said hopefully.

"That's right," he said. He stood up and began packing everything into Thorn's saddlebags. "We have to leave today though, cover some ground."

"Cover some ground," she repeated, mystified.

Murtagh grinned. He gestured towards the blankets and other items. "Yep. Come on, help me pack this, then I'll show you how we'll be traveling. I'm not sure if you'll hate it or love it." As far as he knew, no dwarf had ever ridden a dragon before. This should be interesting.