A/N: Hey guys. I don't really have much to say today, except that I worked really hard and I actually checked this one for typos and stuff! (I haven't done that in a while). And it's longer! So... read! XD
CHAPTER 11!
Murtagh froze. Tell him something? Tell him what, exactly?
"Yes, my lady?" he said apprehensively.
"I'm going to Feinster. Things aren't going… as planned there, since Lady Lorana was taken."
"Lady who?"
"Lady Lorena," Nasuada repeated, waving a hand. "Governor of Feinster. Was pledged to Galbatorix. We have to keep her under a watchful eye here." The young leader waved a hand. "Murtagh, I have a question."
Murtagh swallowed. "Yes, my lady?" he said again.
"Oromis informed Eragon of Galbatorix' eldunarya and in turn, Eragon informed me. Do you have any with you?"
Murtagh paled, almost imperceptibly. Nasuada could tell. He had been hoping she had forgotten; he had forgotten himself until now, and berated himself for drawing on Thorn's energy instead of that of the hearts of hearts.
"Don't lie to me, Murtagh," Nasuada said quietly, after a long pause.
"I… I do, have two with me."
Nasuada stared into Murtagh's eyes intensely. "Bring them to Eragon as soon as you return to my tent. But anyhow, this isn't what I was going to call you here for. Would you, Murtagh Shur'tugal, like to accompany me to Feinster? I'm giving you the choice against my better judgment, as I really should insist upon you coming."
Murtagh considered this for several moments. Was she asking him out of duty? Or simply because she enjoyed his company? The answer to that was obvious: she wanted to keep a close eye on him.
The first time he met this charming young lady, who had changed so much since then he realized, drifted to the forefront of his mind – and his heart fluttered.
"Doesn't she look like a princess?" Eragon stiffened. Murtagh continued. "And the way she carries herself! When she first entered through that doorway, I thought she was one of the great ladies from Galbatorix's court."
He still viewed her the same way. Her stature still displayed power and undeniable authority. No one dared oppose her, nor deny her will.
"I'll tag along," Murtagh said finally.
"Good. I give you permission to visit your dragon, but only after you turn the eldunari in to Eragon. I'll send a servant to my tent to do your bidding for now."
Murtagh nodded, meeting her eyes for a moment, the averting his gaze shyly when she met his. His heart was pounding in his ears as he turned to leave the pavilion.
"And Murtagh? Pack your bags – if you have any; we leave at daybreak tomorrow."
"How're we to get there?" asked Murtagh hoarsely, his back still turned.
"I was meaning to broach the subject. That brings the question of Thorn," Nasuada said thoughtfully standing. "If you decide against bringing him, he will be stuck here in Surda. Dragons do not take kindly to boredom, I imagine. If you do…" she sighed. "Again, it is completely your choice Murtagh."
"I'll bring Thorn."
"I'd expected as much. But seeing as how I need to keep you within eye and earshot at all times possible, that poses a problem: The two of you would have to stay with my horsemen and me. You could not fly ahead to Feinster."
"We could," Murtagh said quietly, "if you flew with us. It would be much less time consuming. Thorn and I could travel the distance from Aberon to Feinster in two days, perhaps even one."
Nasuada seemed to consider this for a moment. "What about supplies?"
"Thorn can carry whatever we'll need."
"What of my guards, the Nighthawks?"
"They can be sent with the pack horses." Murtagh grinned for the first time in a very long while. "You don't think a rider is protection enough? Or is it just me?"
Nasuada ignored this. "What about Eragon?" she mumbled herself. "He may not have enough protection against – well not Murtagh and Thorn, I suppose, but Galbatorix's troops… they need a commander…" she seemed to be rethinking her offer now.
"Are you scared of going on dragon back, Nasuada?" Murtagh teased. "I suppose Eragon never let you on Saphira. Don't worry," he assured her, "Thorn's a gentleman – dragon."
Lady Nightstalker fidgeted with her rose red dress. "Alright. We'll meet by the west entrance a dawn. You are dismissed."
It took Murtagh a long while to make his way back to Nasuada's tent, despite the fact that it was the same vermilion as the pavilion, the same vermilion he was used to, the color of his dragon's luminous scales.
The servant was already there when the rider located the structure. He brushed straight past him, stunned expression and all, and rummaged around looking for his small pack that contained the eldunarya he'd brought with him. As he did, he couldn't help but noticing a few of Nasuada's personal items. His old hand-and-a-half sword presented itself to him in a corner – how in the world? He remembered Tornac giving him this sword when he was young. He remembered abandoning this piece of precious childhood memorabilia for Zar'roc, his father's sword, without a moment's hesitation.
Zar'roc. Where was Zar'roc?
"Eragon." The name escaped as a snarl from Murtagh's lips. He should have realized this sooner. He always felt too safe around the Varden. That was going to have to change.
All else driven from his mind, no longer wishing to dawdle, Murtagh located his pack and told the servant to summon Selena's younger son.
Eragon appeared fifteen minutes later, having obviously made no haste. His eyes narrowed. "What is it?"
"What is it?" Murtagh laughed coldly. "You took my blade, that's what. My inheritance."
Comprehension flashed in Eragon's eyes. "I did," he admitted.
"Get your own sword, brother," Murtagh growled dangerously.
"I have my own sword!" Eragon said sharply, "a rider's blade, forged by Rhunön herself, albeit in a roundabout way."
Murtagh raised and eyebrow as the Shadeslayer unsheathed a magnificent blue hand-and-a-half sword, the same color as Saphira's scales.
Murtagh had always wanted his own blade to use in battle, rather than his cursed father's sword. It had been a lucky coincidence that Thorn had been the same color red as Morzan's dragon. It hadn't seemed right for Eragon to wield the crimson weapon on his azure dragon.
"Its name is Brisingr."
Murtagh yelped and leapt back in astonishment as the already deadly-looking weapon burst into blue, smokeless flame. He was certain that it could vanquish any non-magic using opponent in an instant, if they did not flee at the sight.
Concealing his shock, Murtagh raised an eyebrow. "It bursts into flame every time you utter its name, fire, in the Ancient Language. Interesting."
Experimentally, he shouted "Brisingr!"
"It only works when I do it," said Eragon, somewhat smugly. "I'll surrender Zar'roc when you need it," Eragon said, sheathing Brisingr.
"Better hand it over now; we, that is, Nasuada, Thorn, and I, are leaving for Feinster in the morning."
Eragon blinked. "Nasuada told me nothing of this."
Eragon opened the bag an "I'm not surprised. Perhaps you should've stuck around. By the way," Murtagh added, ignoring the furious look in his brother's eye, "I have something for you." Murtagh thrust his pack at Eragon, careful to hold it by the drawstrings, avoiding the cacophony of thoughts contained within.
d swore. "By all the demons above and below, where did you get these?"
"Galbatorix," Murtagh said shrugging. "Nasuada said to give them to you." Eragon just gaped into the pack. "You'd better turn over Zar'roc now."
The blue rider set off at an elf-paced run and was back with the red blade in minutes. Murtagh nodded and went to retrieve the sheath he had extracted from the bag earlier. To his dismay, the belt he'd hung all his weapons from, even his first dagger, was missing. He sighed.
Eragon was just leaving as Murtagh called out to him. "Eragon!" His half-brother whirled around. "Do you know where I could replace my belt?"
Eragon grinned. "Fredric, the weapons master. He has everything you'll need. Funny chap." He gave Murtagh direction to the armory. "And Thorn's being kept right around the corner, by the cook's tents."
So Murtagh set off to the weaponry. He found it without difficulty, due the men rushing in and out with arrow and shields and whatnot.
He entered warily, aware of all the eyes on him. How did they know what he looked like? He was sure half the Varden did not, but all who did seemed to be gathered in the tent.
"I'm looking for Fredric," Murtagh said quietly to a man with some kind of smelly hide on his burly frame.
"That'd be me," said Fredric, turning to face Murtagh. "And to what do I owe this honor?" his voice was cold.
"I'm with the Varden now," Murtagh mumbled. "Ask Nasuada herself. I need a belt for my sword."
"Well now," Fredric said, "what kind of belt?"
"Any kind you can spare." Murtagh still held Zar'roc's inscribe sheath in his hands, pressed to his side.
Fredric made his way around the large tent and tossed a plain, black leather belt to Murtagh, who caught it reflexively.
"It'd be magnificent to see you fight, Morzansson," said Fredric slowly. "Heck, you might even be a match for Arya. Say…" the weapons master rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Would duel Arya?"
Well, the faster you review, the faster you become a millionaire! Not really, but please review! I might get to Arya's POV for the next one. At least half of it will be from her's.
Ta Ta/ Chao/ Peace out/ REVIEW
-Seastar