Chapter 2

2 months later...

"Now, Murtagh," Galbatorix said into the silence, his voice gentle and quiet. "You left my wing once. I swear you will never do it again. You only have to swear fealty to me. All will be forgiven, and you won't have to go through anymore pain unless want it, of course." Murtagh said nothing. He hadn't uttered a word for several weeks and refused to eat, only tried to sleep. He was almost unrecognizable now. His face was harder than normal and drawn. Dark circles plagued his eyes from the sleepless nights filled with ghastly hallucinations. His cheeks were hollow and his hair was more overgrown than usual. The boy was covered in cuts, bruises and burns. His back bore many scourge lines from the many relentless floggings he received on a daily basis. The stone was soaked through with blood and Murtagh's skin was coated in the stuff. He had developed sores that oozed pus continually and he hadn't the strength to even move however restrained motion might have been. Galbatorix had taken to untying him from the slab from time to time. Murtagh sometimes tried to run, only to crumple on the floor and lie there for hours as the general scourged him again and again. The Ra'zac didn't come anymore. They weren't needed. It was only Galbatorix and the general who took a deep pleasure in his new duties.

"Will you cooperate now?" Murtagh closed his red, tear-stained eyes. "Maybe this will help," Galbatorix said softly. From his cloak, he procured a red dragon's egg. Carefully he settled it on the stone slab beside Murtagh. "Today is your birthday. What are you, nineteen? Your king never forgets."

Murtagh said his first words in weeks. "It won't hatch for me." Just then, it began rattling. It burst open, fiery shards sailing through the air. Galbatorix cast a spell and the egg shell parts stopped and disappeared. With wide eyes, Murtagh watched the membrane covered creature wriggle clumsily beside him. Galbatorix untied Murtagh. Murtagh raised a thin, shaking hand and helped the dragon out of its slimy encasement. The dragon was like a pile of rubies. Its scales weren't solid, but it was covered in red, shining skin, not very different from a lizard's. Galbatorix frowned.

"I didn't even have to persuade him," he muttered. Seizing Murtagh's wrist, Galbatorix touched it to the dragon's nose. The dragon sniffed Murtagh's hand and darted a barbed tongue out at it. There was a burst of light and a cry of pain. Murtagh withdrew his hand sharply. Shining red on his palm was the symbol of the Riders. "Perfect," Galbatorix said offhandedly. "It's official. You are now bonded." The small, awkward creature sneezed and fell against his Rider. He crawled over Murtagh's chest and looked him in the eye with his great ruby ones.

"Look what you did," Murtagh murmured, wonder filling his eyes. Cautiously he touched him again. He extended his mind weakly toward it. He flinched as the dragon's mind filled his own and withdrew into the familiar dark caverns of his own mind.

"You must get accustomed to sharing your thoughts with your dragon," Galbatorix chided. "You will be disjointed with him if you don't."

Without answering, Murtagh tried again, closing his eyes tightly as he went against everything he'd ever valued. Having Galbatorix invade his mind was one thing, but willingly letting a creature access his mental faculties was a completely other thing. As he did this, he felt a quiet. An eerie quiet. He couldn't grasp one of his own thoughts without feeling as if it were lost somewhere in the galaxy of his dragon's mind. He let out an involuntary groan.

"Good," Galbatorix said softly. The dragon's claws dug into Murtagh's chest for a moment and then released him as it clambered over his shoulder and curled beside his head, yawning widely to reveal tiny, white daggers in its maw. The ghost of a smile flickered on Murtagh's thin mouth. He scratched under the dragon's jaw with a skeleton-like, bruised finger (Galbatorix had left nothing not mangled, twisted, or crushed). "Now," the king said softly. "Let's try this again. As I always tell you, Murtagh, I will give you the option to make it all go away... or go on for an interminable time. You need only swear in the Ancient Language your loyalty to me. Are you ready?" He received no answer from his sullen victim. "All right. General. Break him."

"With pleasure, Sire." He lumbered to the stone and seized Murtagh by the wrists; he roped him over the door as was routine. Murtagh had come to memorize each minute detail of the door he was staring at. He gasped and groaned as the first stroke ripped through him. Galbatorix snatched up the dragon and came close to Murtagh. He stroked the dragon's head, making the creature shiver and squirm in his hands.

"It has been over two month's Murtagh. No one would blame you if you gave up." Murtagh arched his back as the scourge tore at his flesh. He heaved a breath and shuddered. It struck him again. And again. He uttered a choked sob.

His dragon wailed. It was a pitiful sound, like an infant crying for it's mother. Murtagh noticed that the pain was different this time. Through his mental link with his dragon, he felt it's pain as well. It's remorse for Murtagh, yes, but also its physical pain that he shared with him.

"Stop," he said hoarsely. The scourge ripped his back open again. "Stop! You're hurting him! You're hurting him, leave him alone! STOP IT YOU FOOL! LEAVE HIM ALONE, HE'S INNOCENT! PLEASE!" The dragon's warbling wail pierced the room.

"Enough, General," Galbatorix said softly. He drew closer to Murtagh and looked him in the eyes. "You see, Murtagh, it's a different game, now. You may be able to withstand your own suffering, but that of another? There is your weakness." He held the red dragon's quivering body up. "Will you swear fealty to me? Or must we continue until you relent?" Murtagh muttered an oath and thought furiously. What would he do? What couldhe do? He thought of Eragon and the Varden. He thought of Ajihad and his sacrifice. He thought of Nasuada. He stared into the creature's baleful, ruby eyes and sighed.

"You will be my servant no matter what you say today," Galbatorix hissed in his ear. "And Nasuada? I cannot grant you her life, but she will die eventually, i can promise you. It is more than she deserves."

"No, please," Murtagh objected. "Please don't kill her. Let me only capture her. Please. Don't make me kill her, and I will swear fealty to you. Say it in the Ancient Language."

"I think not. I think, since you have been wasting my valuable time, I will make you kill her. Yes, it will be a personal death. You will kill her. Slowly and mercilessly. I'll have you under full control. Oh, how her death will be intimately cruel-"

" Please!" Murtagh screamed. Galbatorix stared at the helpless young man with eyes of stone. "I'm begging you, Your Majesty, for her life! Please!" He'd never used a title of respect since his capture. Nor had he begged for anything. Not even mercy. Galbatorix cocked his head.

"And then you are mine?"

"And then I am yours," Murtagh answered, with a crippled waver to his voice.

"All right. Since you are practically beggingfor her life, I will agree. I am a merciful king." In the Ancient Language, he swore it. In the Ancient Language, Murtagh swore the oath Galbatorix gave him. Galbatorix smiled and snapped his fingers. The ropes suspending Murtagh vanished and the boy fell to his knees, finally broken. Like a manikin cut from it's strings. Galbatorix shoved the dragon into his arms. "That wasn't so difficult now was it?"

Murtagh didn't answer. He hated himself. He gave in. And for what? This tiny, harmless little dragon? His freedom was worth less than its life? As the words of the Ancient Language fell from his tongue, he felt what little control he had over himself seep out of him like a grey reluctant fog, still clinging to its former inhabitant wistfully.

He choked again and slumped against the door, fast, silent tears streaming down his haggard face. Galbatorix looked down at him with a cold gleam of malicious contentment in knowledge of what he had wrought on Morzan's son. He changed his expression to one of sympathy and lifted Murtagh to his feet, pressing his face into his deep chest, soothing him. The general grunted and, asking permission, quit the room. Galbatorix slowly began to heal Murtagh's wounds. He healed him as slowly and lingeringly as possible. He would not forget how merciful his master was. Galbatorix let a sadistic smile crawl over his face for a moment and then let it fade.