Cold Heart III
"There's quite a bit for you to learn, though I don't know what skills you can train singlehanded."
"I would like to know more about this place. Are there any more creatures like the Poganklov to be wary of?" Murtagh did not look towards Gerod, after seeing his arm he most definitely did not wish the healing process to be hindered. The ceiling had become quite familiar to him, the wooden boards carefully put together, except for three locations where the planks spread apart due to some minuscule error. For all his wishing for new knowledge, Gerod was a paced man. Murtagh could not help his mind wandering, confined by the static situation.
"Perhaps I should start with the simple things. We live in Lokrim under the rule of Ondrar the Relentless. He was not firstborn, but dueled his two elder brothers to death." Gerod explained as he whittled away a fist-sized lump of wood with a rather large knife.
"Is such a thing usual?"
"Not at all. I believe the last time it happened was whenever my great-grandfather was young."
"Why is it so uncommon? To be king, I'd imagine that no two sons would be able to remain in the same room together." Gerod looked taken aback.
"You come from a very different place." He said solemnly "You would slay your own kin for the title of king?" Murtagh set his jaw in realization. That was the kind of life he'd been living, what he'd run from. Incessantly fighting his half-brother, having to torture the one woman he might care for, working for the black king. Then it had been for his life, but he saw that if not for Nasuada, he may have fought Eragon for the throne. His life had been so difficult, it left Murtagh grabbing every scrap of power trying to defend himself.
"I fought my brother for a long time. Though I can see others would feel differently on the matter."
"Are you running because he defeated you?" Gerod inquired, drifting from the topic of conversation.
"My past is my own." Nodding he accepted Murtagh's rebuke and continued.
"The king lives in Stradrang, the mountain that overlooks the Ruby Gorge. It is only a weeks walk northwest. After your arm heals, I believe that is where you should go."
"For what reason?" Murtagh could not see the wisdom of going to the presence of a man who killed his two brothers for the throne. He might be seen as a threat and was unsure of how they fought in the north.
"It is written that Dovahkiin will always be welcomed at the palace. While you may not be dragonborn, but you may be welcome as well."
"Speaking of which, are you sure there are no healers to repair my arm? I do not fancy being here until all my skin returns on its own."
"Unfortunately for you, the healer and her apprentice have both gone to placate the nearest mage. They will be back in at least two days, if at all." Holding up his work, the wood was a very basic blob, but you could see the head and arms coming into place. "Unfortunately the Dudor mage settled in the abandoned tower nearest here. Most of mages are content with solitude, seeking payment only when their assistance is requested. However he demands monthly tribute, mostly rare herbs and concoctions mixed by the healer. Occasionally he keeps those who bring tribute, which is why it now falls to the healer to deliver."
"Who are the mages?" Murtagh needed to be interested in this group. It seemed as though the local populace were unable to remove the mage. Did that mean there was a monopoly on magic and he would be forced to join? It also occurred to him that the group was loose and independent so that they had no responsibility for the other. He needed to be wary of the magic users and their foreign customs. The last thing he needed was to be killed in the night for not informing someone.
"The mages are a group of powerful magic users. They are solitary and usually estranged from each other unless working together on a project. When a powerful mage begins making a name for himself, if five current members elect him, he is invited to the organization. From then on they are referred to by their specialty for the next 100 years. After that they join the Grand Mages and take their old name back if they wish."
"What is the purpose of not being referred to by their birth name?" Murtagh and Thorn knew firsthand the power of true names, but this seemed irrelevant. In fact being known by what you specialize in seemed like it would be a factor in one's true name.
"Few make it to be a Grand Mage, however those that do have their names remembered forever. Since their specialty name is simply several of the Ancient Words combined, not much of the person remains in the name. Still some of the greatest delve into their specialty so much, it fits them better than their real name, such as Dezzil, their leader."
"I am a magic user. Are there any restrictions I should be aware of?"
"I can't say I'm surprised, with the dragon and all. Magery is too rare to have a set of laws developed for it, however use it for ignoble purposes and people will react accordingly. Some will fear your magic and some will wish to know more. Exercise caution when using your spells near others."
"I see. I won't be casting anything more drastic than a warming charm until this wound heals anyhow." As Gerod carved, a definite human form emerged. Though still rather vague, Murtagh could see it was a woman holding something in her hands in front of her. Gerod stood up.
"Well, I have business in town. If your up to it practice walking about, but you'd best not leave again."
oOo
Murtagh. He ceased his pacing. After taking a quick rest, Murtagh had gotten up to stretch about. His legs were cramped from sitting for so long, but they hasn't sustained any persisting injuries, save for one small purplish bruise along his right thigh. How long are you going to stay in that pathetically small hut?
My original intention was to wait for a healer. Now it doesn't seem like an option. For now I will go along with Gerod's wishes and take advantage of the hospitality he has given me.
I do not believe it would be a good idea to tarry here too long. You and I can both feel that Dudur is a threat to us, especially in our current state. If he gets wind that a dragon and its rider have crossed into his domain, I doubt the result will be pleasant.
He will not get word, at least from the townsfolk.
Even if he cannot examine their minds from this far away, I doubt this fact will be missed. I understand the need to tend to our wounds and retrieve Zar'roc, but there may be more danger than we realize.
We shall wait until a week after the healer returns. Murtagh stated firmly. I will observe the treatment and what is necessary and then we will leave.
I accept that. Now what are you going to occupy yourself with in the meantime? I will be resuming my nap. I don't see how you can sleep so little in a day.
Thorn's presence faded into his sleeping state. His partner was right, there was very little for Murtagh to do. Despite lacking the energy to cast, he spent his time formulating a ward to protect his arm from daily tasks. It took very little effort for him to complete the task. Then he had an idea. If he could gradually add energy to the ward he'd be able to build up its strength. It didn't take long for him to reconfigure the wording to allow him to add energy later. He cast the ward to include the bandages as well, he didn't wish for the wrappings to slip away leaving his arm exposed.
The spell was taxing, Murtagh felt lightheaded as the room began to spin. It seemed the starting energy, even reduced, was a bit much. Staggering back to the bed, he attempted to sleep, but was unable. His stomach growled, demanding additional sustenance to make up for all that he was using. Moving unsteadily to the kitchen, a small bag of potatoes lay across the ground. They seemed clean enough, so Murtagh bit straight into one with a satisfying crunch. Starchy and bland, he preferred food with more flavor, but wouldn't deny himself a meal over something so trivial as taste.
Now Murtagh no longer felt the immediate need to collapse. Still exhausted, but now no longer on the verge of fainting, he decided to explore his surroundings. As he looked about, it seemed the place was for two. Two chairs were set at the table, there were two beds, one of which he occupied. However a continued searching shed doubt, three sets of utensils, both dressers were in the room with the larger bed and the smaller room was bare of anything save the bed, a table and a chair. It was an odd layout, but Murtagh felt there was a simple solution.
Tired with his exploring and new wealth of random factoids, he decided once again that he should sleep.
Murtagh's least favorite part of being injured was the bedrest. Sleeping at odd hours distorted his sense of time drastically. Were it not for the pitch darkness, he would have assumed it the next day. Or perhaps it was already morning of the next day, before the sun rose above the horizon. Either way, he poured the little energy he regained into healing and protecting his arm before sleeping again.
"I was a bit worried about you. What happened?" This time Gerod sat by the bedside. Quite a bit of time passed, his carving was nearly complete. A sad faced woman with locks of hair held out a necklace of what appeared to be teeth. It was very intricate and doubtless took a good deal of time to make.
"Helping my arm heal. How long have I been sleeping?"
"Two days since I talked to you about the mages and its getting late."
"I'd hoped to have gotten into town by today." Murtagh growled. He couldn't stay cooped up in the house for the entire time. There was also the matter of seeing if any of the townsfolk had seen Zar'roc. "Are you keeping people from visiting me or are they incurious?" He asked. After thinking about it, it was odd that he'd caused such a stir, then never seen any person from Riverfell other than Gerod. Murtagh couldn't think of a reason why Gerod would do such a thing, but that didn't mean it couldn't happen.
"That would be because of your arm. They fear catching something and they may be right to. I wash myself more thoroughly and often due to the fact. The fact that Thorn practically guards the front door is also rather deterring. At least I don't have to deal with any pranks!" Gerod laughed and Murtagh stared. Anyhow, if you really wish I can take you into town tomorrow."
"I would appreciate it."
"Good! I'll bring you something to eat, then you can rest. Winter is starting to let up, but it is still rather cold." Gerod left to get soup. Winter? Murtagh thought. Then he realized, that it had been winter. And he'd decided to go north! All this time he thought Lokrim was a frozen wasteland, it was winter. He nearly decided to brain himself. In his time in Uru'baen seasons had been trivial. Alagaesia had a rather warm temperature, only the northern reaches of the Empire experienced snow on a regular basis. He'd completely forgot about how far north he traveled. Feeling sheepish without showing it, he ate the food and returned to sleeping.
A/N 8/13/13: I admit it was a weak finish, but I had a little trouble reaching 2k words. I really don't like dilly dallying with my writing, though that usually leaves things undescribed. I was going to do some more worldbuilding, but I didn't think Gerod was worldly enough to be Mr. Exposition. Sometimes I find worldbuilding tedious, but I might do it anyway later. Pacing still seems too fast, but that's my usual style that Im combatting. Anyhow this is a bit of a ramble now. Thanks for reading! Review, favorite and follow and whatnot!