I do not own Eragon or Eldest. If I did, it wouldn't be so successful.
Murtagh could feel the pains of his most hated "master's" fists, spears, and whips again as he saw the city come into full view. He had flashbacks in his waking and sleeping hours of the night after the Burning Plains. A night he'd come to call the "night of the bloody fist."
Flashback. About a month and a half a week ago.
"I'm sorry! But I couldn't!" Murtagh whimpered through the pain. Galbatorix came at him with an evil eye, punching him hard across the face. It drew plenty of blood which sprayed across the room on Thorn, who was in chains and a muzzle. He glared hard at Galbatorix as he tried to shield Murtagh from the terrible pain.
"You're not sorry…yet! And yes you could have! All I did was tell you to do one thing! One small favor! And you can't even do that! You let your weak heart get to you! Your father would have never failed me so! He wouldn't have even dared!" He kicked him in the gut with his steel toed shoes. Murtagh stumbled away, trying to avoid the next blow. But he was too slow. Murtagh regained part of his strength and rolled behind a wall to protect himself.
"One small favor?" he spat, trying to seem tough. But in the stead of spit, blood came. "If you can call beating my own brother and then dragging him before a madman small! I don't have a weak heart; you just don't have any compassion left in yours! And I never have been like him! And I don't plan to start now! He was a cold, heartless man! My mom was right in sending Eragon away! I just wish she had done the same for me!" Galbatorix's face turned so red, it looked like he'd burst.
He gave a cold, evil cry, "Biska!" And he disappeared. Murtagh stood up. His vision was slightly blurred from a sharp blow to the head. In the dark room, Galbatorix was nowhere to be seen. Murtagh felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as he limped away from the corner. He could see a large blur of glinting red.
"Thorn…" he stammered. He limped forward to his dragon. Suddenly Thorn started rapidly thrashing. "What's wrong, Thorn?"
Murtagh! Move! He screamed through his head. Behind him, Murtagh heard a course yell and turned to see Galbatorix charging him; bloody fists clenched and eyes dilated.
"Defend yourself!" He shouted. Without warning, he threw a steel-plated punch across Murtagh's face. He cried out in pain as more blood sprayed out onto the dark, slippery floor.
Murtagh slipped on his own blood, falling to the ground with a loud thud. Galbatorix held out a cruel whip, lashing his skin hard. Long, deep, bloody wounds soon extended down the length of Murtagh's body. He cried out in pain as Galbatorix cracked the whip again on his bare back. Murtagh, on his hands and knees in the bloody mess, tried to pull himself to Thorn; all the while Galbatorix was cleaving all the blood and skin and hard, ropey muscles off his shoulders. He gave one more desperate cry then collapsed in pain. He just sat there, for hours, feeling the sting of the stale wind and the lash of the whip writhe across his torn back. Finally, he began to try again, somehow getting to his knees again to crawl to Thorn. Galbatorix aimed to kick him again, but he got too close to Thorn. The ruby dragon gave an ear splitting roar as he smashed his tail right into the foul demon.
He flew half way across the room while Thorn's massive head pushed forward to help his rider up. As Thorn nuzzled him, Murtagh found his feet. Unfortunately so did Galbatorix.
"Shruikan, pin him!" He yelled to the massive black monster. With the speed of an elf, he crossed the room to Thorn while Shruikan held him in the spot on all dragons that instantly immobilizes him, the tenth spike. Murtagh moved to help, but Shruikan's mighty black tail smashed into him, breaking some ribs and pinning him in one fluid action. Murtagh struggled to help Thorn while Thorn struggled to help Murtagh.
The dragon watched helplessly as Galbatorix waltzed right up to him. He pulled out a short, jagged blade and stuck it in the fire of a blazing torch. Then he took Thorn's last spike at the tip of his tail and not to mention most deadly for it was sharp, jagged, and was barbed with a mild poison. All male dragons have this trait.
Then, to Thorn and Murtagh's horror, he took the red, molten hot blade out of the fire with his bare hands and burned it right through Thorn's outer skin. It drew deep red blood as the ruby dragon and his rider roared in shear agony.
"You like? Its wyren scale, the only thing hard enough to easily break a dragon's skin." He dug the dagger in deeper, twisting and turning as he went, forming a round hole in the dragon's hide. Then he turned it side ways, pushing up on the hard spike. It made a screeching sound as he pried it from the dragon's skin. Thorn gave an outraged roar and Murtagh tried to endure the pain he felt to get to the villain as Shruikan let him up. When he did, Galbatorix's whole arm was drenched in blood as his fist clenched the dagger and spike.
Murtagh punched him with all the strength left in him. He felt the bones in his fists crack and his skin slice open at the hard blow. He cried out a bit. But Galbatorix stood perfectly still in a braced stance, not even having to step back to bar the pain of the blow.
Instead, he raised the dagger and spike and plowed it into Murtagh's thighs. He slowly ripped down, as if trying to unzip his skin and muscle from his bone. Murtagh cried out as he fell to the ground, writhing in pain. Tears formed in his eyes. Galbatorix smiled cruelly. Thorn gave an outraged roar through the muzzle. He blew flame on it, trying to burn threw.
Murtagh's vision blurred even more as he laid in the pooled of his and his dragon's blood. Purple bruises began to ache. Broken bones to burn. Cuts to sting. The pain became so mind boggling; he couldn't help but pass out. His last memory was of a warm form lying next to his and a clank of a closing door.
End flashback.
Almost everything had been healed now. All but his eyes. Occasionally, he'd go through spells where he completely lost his vision. And yet other times it was twenty-twenty. It all varied from time to time.
Murtagh gave his attention back to the city.
Though Murtagh thoroughly hated the city he was to remain imprisoned in for the rest of his life, he couldn't help but gape in wonder as the polished black gates inlaid with black and white diamonds, black topaz, and midnight sapphire revealed themselves. Even now, with the sun in the opposite direction, the gems glinted like black, blue, and white fires. On the inside, black cobblestone made the ground walked on and the buildings, if not made of onyx or slate, were the make of black cherry wood. When the city was first made, the whole thing smelled like cherries. Now the air was a foul, sticky black from all the fires in the city left to burn since when Galbatorix took the city. Eyes gazed on the gods' greatest wonders, with all the beauty in sculptures and carvings. Ears heard an average city, guards yelling to each other, gates opening and closing, horse hooves clanking on cobblestone. But the nose smelled the city for what it was, foul fumes invading the smell, manure and sewage everywhere, and some strange, ugly smell everywhere that was decay from murders and mold.
The guards quickly part the gate as Thorn paced into the city, not wanting to loose their jobs…or their lives. Crowds dissolved before them, all falling silent as the blood-colored dragon moved, completely silent expect for the soft scratch of claws on the cobblestone.
Murtagh put on his helmet to hide his features so people he knew but that didn't know he was a Rider yet wouldn't recognize him. He'd prefer to not have so many enemies. He tucked the little elf closer so no one would see her ears. She woke and fixed her cute eyes on a brown horse with a flaxen mane and tail that touched the black cobblestones.
"Hors-see." She said in a very musical voice. It was like waves dancing on bells.
Someone from in the crowd said, "Awe…."
Thorn gave a low growl and the person's mouth lost the words it once had.
Thorn, stop. Hold on.
Obediently Thorn stopped.
Murtagh untied his legs from the stirrups and slid down the side with the horse. It was a young stallion. He addressed the man holding the lead.
"That's a fine horse. May I see him?"
The man, wordlessly, handed him the lead. The horse pulled against Murtagh a bit. He was a remarkable creature. Hard, ropey muscles rippled beneath brown skin. Solid irony hooves held up his heavy form. His head was refined, thin ears pricked high in the air, a high bowled head with a bright, hard white star on the top. In the center of the star was a coal black spot. His wide set, big brown eyes focused on the group. All senses seemed to be focusing on the massive dragon just ahead. His pink nostrils flared as he approached. The halter he wore was made of plain double rounded burlap. His owner was definitely not that rich.
He held out the elf, careful to keep her ears hidden. He marveled at how her hair was almost the same color as his. It flowed in the breeze, intertwining till there was no telling the two apart. She held out her tiny hands and the horse moved to touch her little fingers. Murtagh felt her rainbow grow intense as her hand made contact with the great stallion's nose. The horse trembled slightly. Then he sneezed, covering her in a mist of mucus. She giggled and a smile curved her little lips. She loved this animal. He smiled as he watched her stroke the inviting muzzle.
"My daughter seems to have taken a liking to your horse. How much for him?"
"T-t-two hundred s-s-s-ilver coins, Argetlam." The man replied in a nervous tone.
Murtagh pulled out three hundred gold coins.
"Keep the change. Have him sent to the palace. And clean him up."
"Yes, Argetlam." The man managed to say without hesitation.
Murtagh got onto Thorn and they marched off together. The crowd was left murmuring and the man with the horse started laughing in awe. Normally no one was ever to associate with a Rider. They were too powerful; their actions were too unpredictable.
That was a gutsy move. Thorn commented in disgust as they paced around a sharp corner. Calling that thing your daughter. What if someone saw her ears?
Murtagh shook his head. What if you hadn't hatched for me? I'd just be a guy raising an elf. And don't call her a thing.
Yes Argetlam. Thorn answered mockingly.
Murtagh ignored him and focused on the baby. She would grow fast, as all elves do. Girls took around one and a half months before the stopped growing so fast. By the end of that time, they'd look like humans do at fifteen. Elven children were so rare, it was essential they grew fast so they could live. They grow faster then humans and dragons.
At a year they could use magic. Before then, they couldn't. They could learn the ancient language, but that part of their brain wouldn't mature till then. That was also the time they became mature sexually. But most would never have a child. A child is the ultimate vow of love. Marriage was just a ceremony, but this was an eternal bond. It was illegal to divorce after a child was born in Elven customs.
You need a name. Murtagh said with her silent rainbows flowing in his head. He'd been thinking of a few names; Selena, Arva, Rasha, Rissia, Molvoria, Solima, and many others had all not fit. He seriously considered Selena, after his mother. But that brought back painful memories, his mothers last days and how he became an orphan. He loved her so much and missed her every day, but he couldn't spend all day thinking about her. He had to be strong. Otherwise, Galbatorix would pick him off like frog would a fly. And thinking of his mother made him feel weak. One, truly painful memory slipped into his mind.
Flashback. Seventeen years and three months earlier.
"No mom! Don't go!" A toddler yelled out to his mother. He looked maybe three.
A beautiful lady turned around as he yelled. She had sharp brown eyes and bright red hair flowing in slightly frizzy waves to her shoulders. Her brows were unnaturally light, though that made her no less beautiful. Her large, pouting pink lips smiled at the young boy staring at her with large brown eyes.
She went to him, clasping him in her arms. Her arms held him so tight; it was like they thought if they held him tight enough, she couldn't be pried from him.
Behind her, a dark-haired man stood. He had a constant scowl on his face, though he was still handsome even with it. His almost black-brown eyes gazed impatiently at his wife, wanting to get moving. Behind him, a giant, maroon dragon snarled, displaying large, evil fangs. "Easy, Zar." The man murmured to the monster. The toddler shuddered under the two's gaze. Then his father paced impatiently. He snarled under his breathe, "That little brat is a mistake. One I should have never made and will never ever make again…"
The toddlers ears caught these words and he began to cry.
"Listen, Murtagh," she cooed gently to clam his sobs, "I'll never leave you."
Murtagh sniffled. "Never?"
"Never-ever." She said, nuzzling him gently with her nose. "You may not be able to see me, but I'll be there. And here's proof." she pulled out a silver pendant shaped like the morning star, Aiedail, and gently placed it on his neck. "This has been passed down in my family for generations. It brings you good luck. And even if you try, you can't loose it. Nor shall you loose me. So, my first born son, I give this to you. When you raise a family, give it to your first born. And I do promise you it works." She tickled him gently. He gave a light giggle to her soft hand.
"Selena! We've got to go! Now!" the man yelled.
"Coming!" she yelled back. Then, under her breath, she added, "The piece of work that is your father! Promise me you'll never turn out like him."
"I promise, mommy." He replied.
"That's my boy." She smiled, "Now, are you going to be good for your nana?" Murtagh nodded. Selena began to walk away, then turned back to say, "Okay. I love you honey!"
"I love you, mommy." He almost whispered back as she disappeared with Morzan on her tail. He clutched his new charm.
End flashback.
It shone in the morning light. He couldn't believe he'd forgotten it till now. But he did always have it with him. And it was lucky.
Flashback. Three months ago.
He held his good luck charm in his hand. Bruises covered his body. Blood seeped out from beneath his cuts. He ached all over. The shackles on his wrists were digging into them. If only his hand was just a little thinner! He cringed as his arms stained to free themselves.
The door clanked. Murtagh froze. He knew he couldn't take many more beatings. So he closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep.
"I know you're awake…" came a cold, snake like voice. Murtagh opened his eyes. Before him were two richly dressed men. Both looked like the other, despite their differences in clothing choice. One gave a low snicker. These were the Twins, traitors to the Varden and loyal to the king. "Our master desires your presence at supper."
"How much more does he want from me?" Murtagh mumbled.
One of the Twins caught his words. "A lot."
"If you're lucky." The other one added.
"Absolutely nothing if…"
"…you're not."
"Okay…"Murtagh mumbled.
The twins pulled out a key and unlocked his shackles. "And don't try anything funny…" One said
"Cause you won't end up being the one who's laughing…" the other added. Then they made an orderly exit, single file. Murtagh was in between the two.
He followed them out the door. He had long since stopped trying to navigate the palace. So he just followed the backs of the twin ahead of him's shiny bald head.
Suddenly, as he passed a door, something started burning. Murtagh threw his charm up in surprise. The little shiny piece of silver flew up in the air. It landed with a light jangle, going right under a door. Murtagh followed it, despite the twin's protests. He opened the door to see it lying on the floor. He smiled in relief. The burning stopped abruptly.
"You're not supposed to be in here! This room is-" he, his brother, and Murtagh froze in their places. In the center of the room was a deep red stone. It caught the light in a radiant way, sending it riveting across the room. It was massive, shaped into a perfect oval and polished so brightly, it would make a sword's steel jealous.
Murtagh couldn't exactly explain what it was, but he was drawn to it. It was like a dream. No matter what words of magic the twins uttered or how they protested, they could not stop Murtagh from touching the stone. They followed him to the stone.
One of them gasped, the other just had a toothy smile on his face.
"So you are to be like your father." Said the one that was smiling. He gestured to the white line spider webbing the egg's surface. They hadn't been there before Murtagh had touched the egg, but now they were clear as Leona Lake.
"What's so special about them?" Murtagh asked. Though part of him already knew the answer.
"White lines only appear on dragon eggs when the one destined to be their rider touches it." Came a booming voice. A form stood in the door way. It was shadowed and none of his features were clear, but it was known to all who he was. Galbatorix.
End flashback
I can't keep reliving the past. Murtagh told himself, angry he had even thought of it. She really needs a name.
He ran his hands through her hair and looked down at her. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was rhythmic. The rainbow in his head was slowed, yet more beautiful then ever. They flowed softer and shone brighter. The leaves she was wearing seemed to be dying, like being away from the forest could kill them. He moved every hair from behind her dainty head, one strand at a time.
Suddenly his hand brushed against cold metal. He looked down to see light, shiny gold chain around her neck. He picked it up slowly. Something heavy was on the other end. He pulled it further up to reveal a giant golden locket. It twinkled in the new moon light. The gold was embroidered with green vines circling a simple, elegantly crafted word.
"Aiedail?" He read aloud. The baby opened her big, green eyes as if to say "What?" It fit perfectly. The star brought him hope that someday he could be in the same room with his brother with out fighting. It gave him hope that someday he could be free and he and Thorn could answer to no man's rule but their own. Aiedail did just the same as the star itself. Plus, even now at such a young age, she was so beautiful that she lit up the whole room.
"Aiedail it is then." He whispered softly. He got a cascade of satisfied rainbow.
Then they were there. The black palace. Kurmoshkow. It was made of shear onyx of the finest quality. It was inlaid with black diamonds, sapphires, rubies, and emeralds. When the king had made the palace, he had expected the last four dragons in the world to be on his side, so he inlaid his palace with gems of all color the known existing dragon eggs. The black diamonds were bigger then all others. The palace had four, sky high towers, each holding flag halved so one side was black, the other red. A fierce half maroon(on the black side) and half black(on the red side) dragon adorned it. It gushed an orange and yellow tongue of flame. The palace was so dark, it almost went unseen in the black night if not for the occasional touch holding a flower of dim golden flame. The palace swarmed with guards; who gave fearful glances in the increased shadows as they let the molten red dragon in the palace gates.
From a tower, four, cold, black eyes focused on the three. The dragon and the rider came as no surprise to be here. But what of the little elf? Who was she? Who sent her? Was she meant to be here? Was she the one whose coming had been foretold? She was a real mystery. There were too many questions about her and not enough answers.
A cruel smile came to his face. Yes. A brilliant idea. Murtagh's little "Aiedail," could be of great use to him…
