I will hunt you one of the larger ones.
Do not. I'm in no need of meat or anything similar.
I think you are.
The dragon unveiled the impressive span of his wings and slowly moved them up and down repeatedly.
Murtagh saw it many times already. Stiff wings were weak against the currents of air, and his dragon always did it before parting ways with the ground.
I still have supplies, Murtagh said, taking a step closer to the gigantic dragon. He did not want the dragon to leave.
Enough to feed the swarms dwelling in the ground.
The dragon slowly bended in a crouching position, shading the small flora with his belly.
You arrived recently, and barely rested your wings. Don't exhaust yourself for something so trivial, Murtagh stubbornly insisted. He was the one to provide others, not the other way around. It has been like that since his early life, when his parents left him to starve in exchange for a night at the tavern. His father did, at least.
The hardships of life and the difficulty of obtaining a meal hit Murtagh at a fragile age, when many succumbed to illness, hunger or cold and perished. Not him. His father's legacy had been more than lashes and cuts and foul words. Beyond the harshness and the beatings, Murtagh saw opportunity. He was strong enough to endure, and he was witty enough to live on his own, braving the streets with nothing but his will to survive.
His will to become something else than his father.
You will not feast alone, young one. The dragon looked at him briefly, then sprang into the air.
Murtagh's dirty raven locks flared to life, stroke by the wind's savage fingers, pressed for the secrets they veiled. And they conceded.
Behind the grim cape of obscurity, the facial features of a young, but hardened man were revealed. Shown, but not easily deciphered. There were no secrets hiding beyond the dehydrated and somewhat bloody lips. The stains on his cheeks – a mixture of blood, dirt and sweat—were still and quiet. The crusty blood that dried on his forehead and the bruised areas spoke of nothing but pain, both past and recent.
But the eyes were different. They eyes, a sea of blackness so calm and tranquil voiced their solitude. He was alone.
Murtagh watched the sky until the dimming form of the dragon was swallowed by the vast expanse where bright orange hues raged battle with their darker counterparts.
Murtagh frowned. He was not interested in the outcome of this conflict. He witnessed the repetitive ending long enough to guess what would happen this day and the days that followed.
The only difference was that his bright sun, which held the balance between light and darkness, had timely set.
Murtagh walked lifelessly towards the outpost he raised a day earlier. He named it like that because of the large tree that rose like a watch tower. The outpost itself was a mass of branches and long stalked plants carefully piled on top and next to each other, with leaves and foliage covering the whole thing. It was a living tent more than an outpost, but Murtagh didn't care. The second one sounded more sturdy.
Moving past the charred remnants of a fire, Murtagh crouched and entered the tend. And, crouched in that uncomfortable burrow, he waited.
Murtagh lived in the wilderness for a few days. How many, he did not count. Nor did he care about them. Time lost its beauty and nature its colors when he was left alone.
Murtagh sighed, huddling his knees close to his chest. It was getting dark, and cold was creeping in. The outpost was a pitiful source of warmth, for it had cracks and open places. Clothes were even more unreliable, too gashed, punctured or ripped to keep warm. Fire warmed better than poth, but the effort of setting it was too daunting.
The food and the supplies betrayed Murtagh when he needed them most. A few pieces of dried bread stained with blues, grays and greens had not been enough to sustain him. There was meat—considerable amounts of it—left from Thorn's hunts, but they were the first to go bad along with everything in the saddle bag.
The lust forests offered food and protection, but only to those native to the region. For newcomers, shelter was easy to find but nourishment was a different matter.
I could have gone with him. If only I insisted more…
But that was only wishful thinking. The task assigned to them by Galbatorix had developed unpredictable complications. Thorn explained to Murtagh what these complications were about with surprising openness and literally no concealment. Saphira was going through one of her reproduction sycles, and Murtagh had a male dragon accompanying him. The result was inevitable.
Murtagh knew this would happen. Thorn had become agitated, restless, and somewhat erratic before he and Saphira had the chance to be separated by no more than a few feet. Once that happened, Thorn's thoughts had been whipped into a frenzy Murtagh did not think possible. His dragon, his Thorn… wishing to abandon his bonded partner so he could mate with one of his kind.
Murtagh could not even digest the abruptness with which the events rolled when Thorn left him.
No words.
No touch.
No warning.
He just flew away, leaving Murtagh shocked and confused. And now, after days since his departure, Murtagh was sitting in his hand-made shelter, trying to resign with the life he lived until now; a life where he was warmed by the burning fire instead of Thorn's inner warmth, protected by branches and leaves instead of the caressing ruby wing. A life not unlike the one he lived as a child, on the streets of the Empire.
But he will mate with Saphira, Murtagh tried to disperse the gloominess from his thoughts. He will be the savior of his race and sire a bunch of hatchlings even more bothersome than he was.
Murtagh smiled, remembering the joy he felt when Thorn hatched for him. A joy he would not feel for a very long time.
Curses, Murtagh shivered. The wind began blowing from the west, the direction which his outpost was facing. Night was coming.
Murtagh crawled away from the shelter. He could warm himself better by moving, and when the dragon returned, he could take shelter under his wing.
Murtagh's eyes tried not to linger too much on the carcass, but on the one who carried it. Even in the fading light, Murtagh could differentiate the dark hues from the scales of the dragon that blended with the surrounding darkness.
A few more flaps of his massive wings, and the dragon touched the ground in a storm of leaves and debris.
That's not one of the largest you could catch, Murtagh said.
The dragon lowered his head, letting the oversized boar fall from his maw.
It will suffice, he said. He sniffed the boar briefly, then looked at Murtagh. Prey loses much of its taste once blood loses warmth and flesh its succulence.
It tastes the same to me, Murtagh remarked.
A dragon would never agree with you.
Murtagh's stomach growled. The dragon's words accentuated the hunger Murtagh tried to quench with the insignificant berries he occasionally found. His body demanded the meat, but his mind vehemently opposed any rushed decisions.
You refused him, his unyielding mind whispered. You are in no need of meat or anything similar.
Murtagh cursed. His exact words were being thrown at him now that his hunger began to gnaw at his mind.
The dragon growled and tore into the belly of the boar, his front paws keeping the creature steady. Finally, the carcass was being opened.
Blood spilled on the ground, flesh was ripped apart and bones snapped under Murtagh's gaze. Something which seemed brutal at first was now as ordinary as eating fruits. Red or not, they were still fleshy.
The dragon looked at Murtagh again. The Rider met his eyes, but he had yet to grow accustomed to the intensity of the topaz stare.
Minding not what the human did, the dragon rolled the chunk towards Murtagh, pushing it with his half-bloodied snout.
That is yours.
Murtagh looked towards the dragon.
It's half, he said incredulously. You're giving me half?
The dragon licked part of the blood coating his snout, revealing the scales underneath.
I do.
Murtagh looked down, having troubles in expressing his immediate gratitude. Flesh, succulent meat hid below the thick skin of the boar's hind flanks, and Murtagh knew from Thorn that dragons favored that certain part of the kill.
It's unfair, Shruikan. I did nothing to deserve it.
The crunching of bones and flesh being sliced resumed.
You think more than you need to, Shruikan replied.
Murtagh sighed and unsheathed Zar'roc.
I'll need a fire.
Shruikan's unexpected appearance has filled the punctures left by the disappearance of his partner of mind and soul. Having a dragon beside him, even one that was not bonded to him, helped bridge the holes that were left behind. However, Shruikan's presence, as welcomed as it was, sprouted new worries in Murtagh's mind.
How did you find me?
Murtagh sat leaned against Shruikan's foreleg, watching the smoldering coals of the dying campfire.
By scent, Shruikan answered, busily licking a paw. It is easier to smell something than see it.
Murtagh bit his lip lightly. Could Shruikan know that Saphira was in heat? Did he know bout Thorn? Murtagh wanted to know, but at the same time, he dreaded to hear the answer.
Did Galbatorix allow you to leave? Murtagh asked instead.
Close, SHruikan turned his head around. He banished me.
Murtagh frowned. What does that mean?
It means that he released me, Shruikan said. I am free.
Murtagh's frown deepened. Free? That isn't possible! He would never!
What does freedom mean? Shruikan growled. Every creature has its choices fettered by its instincts. The need for nutrients or shelter can not be denied willingly. A ground creature can never leave its native grounds, lest be killed by hunger or other predators.
Acting on your own accord, Murtagh retorted. Havng your will be your own.
Freedom is what you make it to be, not how you understand it. Two legs are free to do as they wish, but they still bount themselves in their own chains.
I'm confused, Murtagh gave up. How did he free you?
He ordered me to do as I wish and fly where I wish, young one. That is all there is to it.
Murtagh rose and began pacing around. For some reason, he could not stay idle, not even when his belly was full of meat.
This is perplexing, Murtagh kicked a lump of coal. He's letting you go just like that? He loses so much and gains nothing in return.
Shruikan said nothing, even if his gaze lingered on Murtagh, as if he wanted to explain more.
He throws his dragon away, but not his slave, Murtagh clenched and declutched his fists.
What am I to him? A messenger running errands compared to Shruikan.
Murtagh kicked another coal, sending it crashing into a tree. He detested being the tool of someone when that someone else was a man powerful enough to take control of his body, violate his mind and learn all of his secrets. All done from the confines of his citadel.
He's the reason why I lost Thorn.
Murtagh turned to Shruikan.
Can you tell me more details? I want to know more.
I can not, the black dragon responded.
What of Galbatorix? You know him well enough.
Shruikan said nothing.
Murtagh's jaw clenched, a hiss escaping through his lips.
Then what of your life? Your past? Murtagh said insistently, almost angry.
There are details that should not be uncovered, Shruikan growled louder than before. Keeping them veiled in ashes makes them less distracting and much less concerning.
Murtagh wanted to sigh, but a groan of anger came out instead. Shruikan's tangled wordswas distracting enough and far less important than the questions addressed to him.
Suddenly, Shruikan rose from his position. Remaining completely still, Murtagh only watched as the dragon padded towards him, nuzzling his shoulder with surprising care and gentleness.
Rest under my wing, young one, and leave those thoughts for another day.
Murtagh woke up in a much brighter disposition than the previous day, and he had Shruikan to thank for. If it was not for the black dragon, Mrtagh would have slept another cold night with nothing in his belly and nothing to look forward to.
Murtagh blinked once, his eyes fixed on the leathery membrane of Shruikan's wing. How strange it was seeing black instead of red, the color Murtagh grew so accustomed to. He had the opportunity to think or sleep more if he desired to, but most of the times it was Thorn who disturbed his ephemeral rest. Thorn and his various ways of…
Don't think about it, Murtagh forced his thoughts on another matter. It had been inappropriate for him to be so angrily inquisitive of Shruikan's life. Not because he was a very old and knowledgeable dragon. That was a pesky detail compared to the horrors Shruikan lived through, like the slaughter of his own kin.
Murtagh did not know if he should apologize because he rarely did. Life had forced him to do inappropriate things to survive, and apologizing was not a way of living. Sympathy or regret did not feed him nor gave him shelter. His parents did not apologize to him when they let Murtagh fend on his own. His father's way of apologizing was even more unusual, offering to split the pain when he came home with the empty casked.
They did not worth it, but Murtagh had apologized to thorn, and not just once.
Maybe I can persuade Shruikan, Murtagh thought, unable to keep his mind away from Thorn. I want to see him, even briefly.
Murtagh gently lifted Shruikan's wing and crouched away from his belly. Then, he carefully passed by his head without disturbing his slumber.
Once he was far away, Murtagh stood up on his legs. He looked around. The outpost was still there, same as the few remaining pieces of burned wood. He could use them, preferably as a last resort.
Murtagh quickly turned his head to the right, where the pieces of the carcass still littered the ground. If there was some skin remaining, he could…
No. The pitiful remains were onlymade of fragments of bone, hooves, and pieces of pierced skin.
Not enough to build a saddle. Not a normal one.
Murtagh again looked at the outpost. With some improvisation and magic, he could work something out.
Murtagh had waited until Shruikan woke up before making any further plans. Once he did, Murtagh allowed him time to stretch his limbs and wings. Every dragon that, including Thorn.
When he was finished, Murtagh walked near him and stroke his snout. Shruikan began to hum, sounding strangely different than what Murtagh remembered.
Have you sensed Thorn when you were flying? Murtagh asked honestly. Those who practiced deceit often won the gamble. Murtagh was far from being a notice, but he did not want to do that to those close to him. Taking advantage of the few bonds he had could shatter them irreversibly.
Shruikan growled and pushed his snout further into Murtagh's arms. He was enjoying his treatment, maybe more than usual.
Then, everything stopped. The reverberating growl, the hum of contentment, everything.
I did, Shruikan snorted, eyeing Murtagh briefly before burying his head under his wing. But we will not meet him.
Why? Murtagh thought.
Why not? He asked.
Because it's not possible, Shruikan said, uncovering his horned head. And it will not be until several moon cycles have passed.
That's too long, Murtagh took a step back, disbelief present in his voice.
It lasts so because he is not alone.
Murtagh scoffed. So I won't be able to see him just because he's mating?
Precisely, Shruikan replied. And we will leave him and Saphira alone for long after, until their offspring will break the shell of their eggs.
Why are you speaking of we, Shruikan? Murtagh stepped forward, stroking his neck. I'm his Rider, and I can't stay away from him for so long.
It will be painful, but your will cannot change nature's course.
Murtagh tried his best, but Shruikan refused to appear sympathetic to his grief.
That cannot happen, Murtagh said. No Rider could do it, even the ones who perished.
Shruikan remained silent for a while.
You would accomplish nothing if you go, a growl materialized from the depths of his onyx scaled neck. Despite your bond, you will be of no interest to Thorn. If Saphira flies away, he will follow her without you.
Part of Murtagh saw the truth in Shruikan's words. After all, Thorn had abandoned him, but he did not want… He did not want to believe that his dragon, his Thorn, would completely ignore his presence.
Maybe he already mated, Murtagh tried one last time. If he did, he will see reason instead of…
Shruikan growled. Dragons do not mate only once, nor do they stop after a day or two. The instincts lessen their grip after a few days of successful mating, but they do not completely vanish. They're only less powerful than during the peak of the female's reproduction cycle.
Murtagh crashed on the ground, hopelessness tugging at his tired mind.
What will we do, then?
We fly away from these mountains.
Murtagh sighed and looked at the obsidian scales. He did that for a good while already. Their color matched the darkness he felt. If he left, every chance of seeing Thorn will vanish.
That is unneeded, Murtagh barged in. I will not disturb him if you wish…
I need to keep a safe distance as well.
Murtagh's eyes widened.
Why?
You should be able to understand that on your own. My instincts are no lesser than those of Thorn. If Saphira flies close to us, there is a high possibility of hurting Thorn. Unwillingly.
Would you do that? Murtagh asked incredulously.
Beyond the shadow of a doubt. Males often compete over a female so only the strongest one will have the possibility to mate her.
I did not expect that from dragons, Murtagh said, letting his legs carry him around Shruikan. But if the instincts are as strong as you said, then your desire to mate must be…
Beyond what words could express, Shruikan roared, raking the dirt with his paw. But Thorn had reached Saphira first. If the situation was any different, I would not have hesitated to fly after Saphira, but bringing harm upon Thorn is not something I wish. There are too few of us remaining in this land.
Murtagh conceded before Shruikan's flawless reasoning, as hard as it was to do that. Stubbornness and persistence have won him many battles, but not one against the raw instincts of a dragon. A selfish act from him would cause irreparable first in his relationship with the dragons, or worse, even the death of one. Knowing that Thorn lived his life as he wanted was much more fulfilling than petting those ruby scales one last time. Until they will be reunited, Murtagh had to settle with thoughts and memories of they times they spent together.
Murtagh lifted his head from the ground and looked at Shruikan.
How will we fly?
Shruikan arched his neck, but Murtagh got ahead of him. The missing saddle was the first thing he noticed when he woke up.
I will carry you in my claws, Shruikan offered with a soft growl. Murtagh knew that he itched for that for a while.
Murtagh smiled weakly, What about a saddle made from sticks and leaves?
I will not deny it if it holds during flight, Shruikan nudged, then nuzzled Murtagh. I doubt it will.
And so Murtagh was left with no options he would normally consider. Unfortunately, choices were out of his reach.
Murtagh cut the empty sack that he placed in the main chamber of his impenetrable outpost. With it, he reinforced his torn clothes by adding new fabric that strengthened the old. Not for cold, but for precautions – and hopefully, but not likely comfort.
After he prepared himself, he let Shruikan know that he is ready.
And ready he was.
I was not expecting that sort of lifting, Murtagh groaned. He had not been ready. Far from it. Clothes turned out to be unreliable, and the sack of precautions – and hopefully, comfort—offered none of what it promised.
I am carrying you in my hind legs, Murtagh, Shruikan said. It was the only possibility. Otherwise, we would still be on the ground.
You are carrying me like prey! Murtagh noted with astute confidence. I believed you were going to use your others.
Murtagh heard Shruikan's faint growl. I could, but the prey usually oozes more blood when I do that.
That's because you lack a delicate touch, Murtagh said sarcastically.
We are not made to be delicate, Shruikan said. Except for when we are mating.
What other things you do when you mate?
Murtagh's question was not answered, but filled with details he did not expect. Thorn did not back down from detailing 'things which two legs found improper and worth of hiding beyond cloth', as he said. Now, Shruikan was strengthening Murtagh;s assumption and enriching his knowledge, at the same time. And in exchange of one – apparently—harmless question, Murtagh obtained a whole encyclopedia. Close to no effort required.
That… is so complicated, Murtagh said. He forgot about the pain of his punctured skin, the discomfort of Shruikan's claws, and that he was flying in the place where a dead deer usually stood.
It may seem so, but most of it comes instinctively.
But you're sentient, Murtagh said. I never expected instincts to guide you as they do.
They are part of what makes us wild and closer to nature. We live as any other creature does, except two-legs. They break what is natural and shape it according to their whims.
Maybe you are right, Murtagh agreed without a shadow of a doubt. Perhaps spending so much time among dragons made his beliefs less human. Perhaps his recent found knowledge would be more useful than anticipated.
The time spent in Shruikan's hind claws had certain advantages. The view of the ground below was better than from dragon back, offering striking sights of the forest below. Valleys, hills, lakes and many more rolled endlessly as Shruikan was carried by the steady flapping of wings. Apart from that, Murtagh saw—more than he wanted to—how Shruikan used his tail during flight. In other ways, it was a sick reminder of Thorn's suffering when his own tail was ripped apart.
Lastly, Murtagh was thankful of Shruikan's judgment. As hind paws were slightly lengthier and could move more freely than front ones, the only hurt Murtagh felt were the opunctures of the tips of the claws when he was snatched from the ground like the prey he was.
Everything was over in a beat of a wing as Shruikan landed near the bank of a river in order to solve obvious thirst problems.
Where will we go? Murtagh asked, drinking in the crystalline cold water cupped in his hands.
That is up to you. Water dripped from Shruikan's snout as he raised his neck. Preferably uninhabited by two-legs.
Murtagh thought for a bit, but no particular location crossed his mind. Except the one they just left.
What after?
Most likely wait.
Why did you come, Shruikan? Murtagh asked. You were free to do what you wish instead of carrying me with you. I am a burden that drags you down, nothing more.
Because you are the one of few two-legs I care about, Shruikan said. And I want to see my race flourish once again.
Murtagh gritted his teeth. He knew what that implied, but spoke no further. The race of dragons was at stake, and he, a mere two-legs, would not doom their future for personal interests.
I will see you, Thorn, Murtagh thought. Someday, I will.
With that, he moved towards Shruikan and stroke the scales on his chest.
One journey ended, and another one was about to begin.