Cold Heart II
Murtagh opened his eyes to an unfamiliar setting. Groaning he sat up on the bed, when a sharp pain in his left arm forced him back down. He wondered how he got here and what the nature of his wound was, it felt numb and painful. If he knew what was wrong and had a little more strength then he'd be able to heal it. For the time being he could only wait.
Thorn? Murtagh reached out with his mind as he waited. His dragon could take care of himself, although he wondered what his rescuers thought. It was doubtful that they even could cause any harm to Thorn, but he was still concerned. He was unsure whether even the legends of dragons had been able to pass the mountains and their resident beasts. As he threw out his consciousness he sensed someone approaching.
"You're awake I see. Good." The man was stocky with a thick brown beard. His hands were calloused, though not from fighting, perhaps he'd landed near a farm? No, not in this climate. Unless magic was used to help crops grow?
"Where am I?" His voice cracked and it barely came out as a murmur. It occurred to him that other than the occasional muttered word of magic, he hadn't spoken since he left Alagaesia. He coughed several times trying to clear his throat before trying again.
"You're in Riverfell. Stranger to these parts I assume? Thought dragons disappeared ages ago." Murtagh's eyes widened
"Thorn, where is he?"
"Name of your pet? Ah, well it had a few up in arms at first, but we noticed you in the saddle and figured it was tame. We tried patching up its wing, but there was extensive damage from the poganklov's breath."
"Poganklov?" The name seemed powerful, but it didn't sound like the Ancient Language. Interesting, but his dragon was more important, and from the man's description, needed more help than he did. "Where is Thorn? I must see to him!" He demanded, trying once more to stand keeping his arm from moving.
"Calm down and keep your arm from moving! You were lucky, most people woulda lost their whole arm. That is if they weren't killed and eaten. You can see 'Thorn' soon, rest for now." Murtagh refused to listen. Thorn was the only one who remained, the only one he had left. Eragon ostensibly would welcome him, but his half-brother always had a bewildering naivete. Galbatorix had been the only one the fool thought irredeemable.
"Out of my way." Murtagh grunted shambling towards the door. His legs were only slightly scraped up, but he was feeling incredibly light-headed. The man made a half hearted attempt to block his path, unwilling to rough up an already wounded man.
"Ach, what can I do to stop you? You're not well!"
"Where's the damn door?" Murtagh found himself in what appeared to be a dining room. The hearth was of a considerable size with stew simmering in a pot. Stomach rumbling, he looked for the exit. Finally he came to a door with snow in front of it, at last the way out!
"Hold on now, it's a storm out there. You could at least wait..." Murtagh cut him off with a glare. Opening the door he met a cast of snowflakes as his feet were buried under the snow that built up against the foot of the door. His tunic wasn't fashioned for such weather and he hardly had the energy for spells. Still he set out.
"You're mad." Even as he said it, he draped a heavy mantle over Murtagh, who muttered incomprehensible thanks and set out. It wasn't much of a blizzard, but the snow still came down quickly. Looking around, Murtagh couldn't make out Thorn. Through the white haze he couldn't see the pass, but was able to see the mountains they'd passed over.
Trudging towards his best guess at where they'd landed, the wind nipped at his nose and ears. He was glad for the mantle, as it kept the snow from piling on his head,but couldn't help growling as it flapped against his wound. He regretted not asking what the nature of the wound was. Hardly any feeling remained in his arm, Murtagh was unsure whether that was a result of the cold, the wound or something else.
Thorn! He called out. Without any direction to head in he would just have to search, body and mind. Where in this freezing hell are you?
There was a brief moment when he brushed against Thorn's consciousness. Focusing in, he pinpointed the location as well as he could and set off in an awkward dash through the snow. Before long he came to a dragon shaped lump in the snow.
Thorn!
Ughh, I'm sleeping. Murtagh was both relieved and infuriated.
What do you mean? We crashed, you poor excuse for a reptile! Did you even notice I was gone? Thorn eyed his rider who was flapping his arms about inconsolably. It would have made quite the scene, an injured man berating a dragon.
Of course. Smoke exited Thorn's nostrils as he shook the snow off his scales. The humans that came by bandaged our wounds. Besides, I am not as wounded as you. I could have easily bounded over to that house and ripped the roof off had you called me.
Unless you happened to be sleeping at the time.
Just climb on my back and I'll take you back. You need rest Rider. Murtagh made an attempt to climb up Thorn's broad side, but with only one arm and the scales iced over, he simply made a fool of himself. Thorn silently offered his wing as a foothold. Murtagh collapsed over him, draped across his back. Thorn tromped over to the house with ease. Unless it was more than several feet, a dragon as large as he had no problem. Doing his best to lower his rider to the cottage with his good wing, he left Murtagh to slump against the door for support. He growled to alert the owner of the dwelling.
As the door opened inwards, Murtagh fell to the ground. The man wore a confused look on his face before noticing the dragon.
"Oh. You must be Thorn?" He spoke in a stilted manner, as his eyes met the red orbs of the dragon.
Indeed. I thank you for taking care of my rider, he is quite careless at times.
oOo
Murtagh awoke once again in the bed and almost got up again until he felt Thorn's presence.
Stay in bed you fool, you need rest.
Thorn...What injuries have you sustained?
The membrane on my wing is torn to the point I am unable to fly. It will not heal without the aid of magic. I also happen to be missing more than a few scales, my snout and underbelly now have a considerable number of weak points.
You are missing scales?
You don't recall anything? Figures that unprotected cranium of yours suffered a few hits. It's not much of a tale, after you fell unconscious after failing to divert the breath of those, Poganklov was it? , the membrane of my wing froze over. As I tried flying, the frozen pieces cracked and we plummeted down. Our momentum carried us down the slope, I lost my scales to the rocks encountered.
So you acted as a sled? Murtagh could feel Thorn's scowl.
You daren't bring that up. The rider was chuckling now, despite his usual sullen demeanor.
Aah, but the Tale of the Dread Sled...
I was but a hatchling! He laughed, even as he felt Thorn's growls shake the cottage. One of the few joyful moments they'd been unmolested by Galbatorix while in Uru'baen. Murtagh's 'caretaker' came in to see what the noise was about.
"Good to see you're lively lad. Now that you've got your dragon back we can have a more coherent conversation, aye?"
"Yes. I remember you saying we were in Riverfell. I have never heard of this place, I take it this is beyond the borders of Alagaesia?" Murtagh returned to his normal, more commanding tone swiftly.
"I'd say so, as I've never heard of such a place! So what is your business here stranger?"
"My name is Murtagh, my business is my own. However I will say I did not expect to see anyone on my journey." The man's expression saddened.
"Running from something? Well I suppose I won't pry. Name's Gerod. You can stay until you can survive on your own. I won't make you, as I'd probably be rather filling for a dragon, if a bit chewy." Murtagh was taken aback. Gerod at least glimpsed part of why he was here and still offering sanctuary. Danger and misfortune followed Murtagh like his footsteps, the man seemed to have a sense of it at least.
"I cannot fathom your reason for doing so, but I accept." He would take what he could. The northern reaches were a strange place and his life would be at risk if he was poorly informed. "Though first I would like to know, where is my sword?"
"Can't say I saw it. May have been left in the snow, someone could have taken it." How could they have missed it? The blade was red, it would have stood out. A depressing thought struck him, perhaps it'd fallen off while on the mountain. If so, retrieving it would be troublesome. The lack of a weapon wouldn't be troublesome, as it would be unlikely and unwise to fight the Poganklov hand-to-hand.
"Do you at least know how long it will be before my arm is healed?"
"You haven't taken a look at it have you." Gerod shook his head and stood up. "You can unwrap it, but do so carefully. I'll return with fresh linens." As Murtagh slowly unwrapped his arm despite what he'd seen Galbatorix do, he felt a small amount of bile rise in the back of his throat. The skin was cobbled from islands dark green masses of skin, separated by yellow rivers of dried pus. It appeared similar to gangrene, which was surprising. What Thorn described made it seem as though his wings suffered from a form of frostbite. It seemed as though only the outer layer of the skin had been affected. He gingerly moved his arm about, trying to test his mobility without causing undue stress to the wound.
"Govey krasaar." The drop in energy was minimal, but he was already tired. It wouldn't heal the wound, but it would at least keep it from becoming infected. Murtagh floated the translucent sphere of disease to the corner. Less than sanitary, admittedly, but he didn't have the energy to go walking about outside. Gerod returned with a small role of bandages.
"It does look nasty, doesn't it? Depends on how fast you heal, but you'll be here for at least a month. At least you're not krehal." Chuckling he bandaged Murtagh's arm.
"Krehal?"
"Alagaesia must be very far away! Krehal means left handed. But enough, you can get learning tomorrow. You're adventure earlier today must have been draining." Murtagh accepted begrudgingly, though there was no rush he hated to remain idle.
A/N 8/9/13: In case you haven't noticed, I am using the Dragon Language to substitute for the gaps in the Ancient Language. Though no linguist I thought using "Brokenhand" was pretty good. Anyhow Murtagh searching for Thorn seems to go by quickly, though that's my problem with Purple Prose, omitting needless words. Well I guess I'm off to work on the next chapter! Hope you enjoyed and please review and favorite and make me TV Tropes page plz!