Thanks to reviewers of the seventh chapter:
Calmarea, EvilBunny101, sweetblonde15, luvthefluf, Agent047, Nelarun, alfalfa7, Alexis, Eragon1177
The throwing of rotten fruit, old computers, pillows, and other varieties of projectiles may now commence. You have my deepest apology for neglecting the story. Enjoy the chapter!
---Chapter Eight---
Fight or Flight
by: ElfLuver13
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She caught glimpses of a deserted courtyard and stone walls before the large man holding her put a hand on the back of her head and forced her into a damp tunnel. It was almost completely dark, the sides of the cave-like passageway were covered in a slimy-looking film that also clung to the air and made it hard to breathe. From up above, she heard shouting and rough footsteps echoing on the cobbled paths above them.
"Move along," the man said gruffly, shoving her forward. She stumbled on the steep steps but caught herself before she went headlong into the unknown. The wall sconces each contained a glass-covered flame, barely large enough to illuminate one's face, let alone the path before them.
Finally, they reached flat ground. Caitrin blinked furiously, trying to adjust to the darkness and at least see something. The guard leading her, who still had one hand firmly clamped around her upper arm, was speaking to another similarly dressed soldier rapidly. Caitrin couldn't make out the language. The other man nodded to Caitrin's guard and they followed him down a hallway to their left. Caitrin thought she could see things moving in the walls. Moments later she realized that the walls were prison cells, and there were prisoners inside them.
They walked nearly to the end of the row of cells, Caitrin could see a heavy wooden door at the end of the hallway. Her cell was four from the door. The other man pulled a ring of grimy keys from his pocket, flipping through them quickly to find the key to the cell.
"My commander is waiting," Caitrin's guard complained. The man with the keys, small and wormy in appearance, glared at him and continued to search. He stopped and held up a key to the door; it swung open moments later, groaning on its hinges. The guard shoved her in, sending her sprawling on the filthy stone covered floor.
"Where'd this one come from?" The prison guard asked curiously, peering at her crudely from the other side of the bars. He reminded Caitrin of a crab. The soldier that had brought her sent a sidelong glance at the man.
"Galbatorix," he replied. Then he added, "She is not to be touched."
The Crab sent a disgusted look at Caitrin.
"As if I would touch a traitor," he said. The two walked away, and Caitrin sighed in relief to hear the retreating footsteps. Her eyes had adjusted to the dimness of the dungeons, and she was able to look around her cell.
It was a small cell, no more than maybe six by eight feet. A bucket was in the corner, and Caitrin already knew what that was for. Judging by the smell, they probably hadn't cleaned it out since the last person had used it, either. There were thick walls on either side of her, with the bars and the door to the cell ahead of her. No window, no bed.
Caitrin crawled around the cell, searching for a spot on the filthy floor that wasn't covered with waste or grime. She settled for a spot near the back corner of the cell, and, tucking her knees up to her body and putting her head in her arms, she fell asleep.
"Let me go! Where did you take her? Let go of me!"
Murtagh wrenched his arms from the grip of a brawny soldier. Moments later, though, several more soldiers tackled him and held him securely. One burly man approached and put his foot on Murtagh's head, grinding his face into the cobblestones of the courtyard. "Are you ready to cooperate, spy? Or are you the dragon rider?"
Murtagh feigned innocence. "I don't know what you are talking about," he answered, his voice muffled into the ground.
The man kicked him. "Insolent fool!"
Murtagh gritted his teeth against the pain. He fought the overwhelming urge to kill all of the soldiers with a single spell, knowing their only hope was if he stayed in character. Perhaps magic would be useful later.
"Take him to the dungeons, to the cell next to his 'beloved'," the man mocked. "I want him flogged twice a day until he tells. Make sure she is within hearing."
Murtagh was hauled to his feet and dragged the rest of the way. Lights burst behind his eyes and he could see his blood dripping to the ground, leaving a trail behind him. He shifted, trying to stand more, and one of the guards holding him struck his head with the butt of his sword. Then there was blackness.
Caitrin was woken from her reverie by a commotion down the row of cells. She stood up slowly and sauntered to the cage bars, craning her neck to see. They appeared to be carrying a limp form down the hallway.
"He's to go next to the girl," she heard. Sure enough, with the Crab leading the way, the unconscious man was brought down towards her cell. Caitrin fought the urge to gasp as she recognized him.
A trickle of blood was coming from his hairline where a nasty bruise was beginning to appear. Blood also flowed from his nose, and the edge of his mouth. Dirt was smeared along one side of his face. Unable to stand and watch Murtagh, Caitrin recoiled back into her cell and leaned against the wall, fighting the nausea beginning to creep into her. The cell door opened, and Caitrin heard a dull thump as Murtagh was presumably tossed into the cell.
The tears made tracks through the dirt coated on her face. When had she become so weak? What had happened to the Caitrin that wouldn't have flinched if she had seen a man killed?
The tears fell to the floor, making small puddles in the filth. Feeling pitiful and utterly alone, Caitrin curled up into the wall beside her and sobbed.
Everything hurt. Groaning with the effort, Murtagh rolled over. He lifted his head, trying to find out where he was. He vaguely remembered being taken down somewhere. The feculent stone beneath him gave him a clue, so did the bars. He was in a dungeon.
It all began to come back to him. The courtyard, the burly man, then unimaginable pain and darkness. They had said to put him in a cell next to his beloved. That meant Caitrin. Something like misery formed in the pit of his stomach as he worried for her, what they had done to her. If it was even half as bad as they had done to him, he knew he would not rest until he found retribution.
His hearing caught something faint. He cocked his head, listening harder. It was near him, coming from his right. He dragged himself to the stone wall of his cell and stopped. Someone was crying. He could hear the short, hysterical breaths, even the splash of the tears on the stone. Rage bubbled up inside him. He ventured to speak, wondering if she would even hear him.
"Caitrin?" He asked softly. He imagined her face, dirty like his but hopefully unharmed, her bright eyes shining with wetness. The sobbing stopped slightly, slowed, and then quieted. And then an answer came.
"Murtagh?"
"Yes, it's me. Who else here would know your name?" he replied. A stifled laugh. He smiled, knowing he had cheered her up a bit.
"I saw you when they brought you in, you looked..."
"Dead? Awful? I imagine so," he said. Silence. He wondered if that might have been too much for her.
"I was so worried for you. What are we going to do?"
"We'll wait. Stick with the story, and we'll see if it gets through to them," he answered.
"I think they know we're imposters, Murtagh. That spy for the Varden, he's already let the story out. I knew we should have killed him."
"Then we'll find another way," he replied.
"You can use magic, can't you?" Her voice filled with hope.
"I'm saving it. There will be a time to use it, but not now. I have barely enough strength to do anything, especially magic."
"What do you think they'll do with us, then?" she asked.
"They're planning to torture me for information, with you nearby to see and hear. I think they know I won't break, they're counting on you to give in and tell. Whatever you do, do not say a word."
"But-"
"No. I will be fine."
Caitrin had no answer to that. It would be hard to watch him suffer, but he had told her his resolve. She had no doubt of her faith in him to get them both of Surda's dungeons.
"What of Thorn? Where is he?" Caitrin asked, switching subjects.
"I'll ask him," he replied. He reached out, his mind searching and grasping for Thorn's. He would be far away, safe somewhere in a cave. With relief, he finally found Thorn's mind.
Where are you?
I should ask you the same thing. Surda was not friendly, then? Thorn asked.
Decidedly not. I need to know that you won't be discovered.
I won't be, trust me.
We'll be a while; days. Perhaps even weeks.
I won't desert you.
I know, I just didn't want you to be worried.
Never.
I'm glad you care. Sleep well.
You as well, rider.
Murtagh slumped backwards against the cell wall, thoroughly exhausted and ready to sleep. Even speaking with Thorn had sent an unexpected fatigue to him.
"I'm guessing Thorn is well?" Caitrin asked. Murtagh had forgotten to reply.
"Yes, he is. Safely hidden and warned."
"Good night, then," she replied. He had already fallen asleep, she could hear his steady breathing. Having satisfied her worry for him, she curled up again and slept, as close to the wall as the space allowed.
Surprisingly, Caitrin woke the next morning after having a decent night's sleep. She stretched a bit to get the cricks and stiffness from her neck.
Footsteps echoed down the hallway, signaling an approach. Caitrin had already guessed who it was.
"Morning, scum. A bit of porridge?" The Crab slid a bowl through an opening in the bars. Moments later, a small tin cup was sent in as well. Caitrin stood and walked over to the offerings.
The 'porridge' could have been anything but porridge. Since when did porridge have tiny white worms swimming through it, anyways? The water was tinted brown, and was warm. Hunger seized her like a sickness, the stomach cramps were becoming unbearable. She closed her eyes and tilted the bowl towards her mouth, swallowing the stuff without chewing. Trying to block out the image of the food, she then did the same with the water. It tasted fairly normal if one didn't actually look at it.
She heard Murtagh receiving his breakfast next. With her stomach hardly appeased, she drew herself back into the shadows of her cell and waited for him to finish.
"This makes Galbatorix's dungeons look like a palace," she heard him say.
Caitrin laughed softly and agreed. "Where do you think they got the water?" she asked.
"Probably a pond, or a pail left out to catch rain."
"How long before they'll-"
She was cut off by the sound of heavy boots stomping down the corridor. Once again, she saw the Crab for the second time that morning, gleefully rummaging through his keys to find the one to Murtagh's cell. He found it and opened the rusty bars, letting the soldiers file into Murtagh's cell and drag him out into the corridor.
"There." A soldier pointed to a space in front of Caitrin's cell. Murtagh was heaved to the ground in that spot. Caitrin stifled her tears and gazed passively at a spot on the ceiling. She heard the sound of ripping as his shirt was pulled off and strewn somewhere. A soldier moved to stand in front of him, holding him up and exposing his back to the other soldier.
Caitrin glanced at him, unable to keep from looking, and noticed something that she never had. A long, nasty looking scar stretched from his shoulder to his hip. She looked over to the soldier behind him, who had begun to raise a whip above his head.
She was able to take her eyes from him before she heard the whip slice through his skin.
Mwahaha... cliffie. Please review! Thanks again to my beta, Agent047! And happy New Year to you all!
-ElfLuver13