Risky Decisions
The man dropped the few belongings he was carrying to the ground before shoving the hermit's hut door with his shoulder and side. The door creaked on its rusty hinges and reluctantly swung open. As he entered the single room, he surveyed the sparse possessions it contained. There was less dust than he had anticipated, and as promised, he found some basic supplies stored in the cupboard.
"You can stay in the hermit's hut as long as you need," she had told him. "I've used it as a shelter myself a few times. I'll bring new supplies as soon as possible."
The man closed the door behind him... Any difficult decision concerning his destiny had long been made... From now on, he would be the hermit...
.*.*.*.
"Last night, you came into my dreams," she said in a serious tone. Avoiding his gaze to not see the impact her words had made, she turned slowly and walked along the carved corridor. Her steps took her away from the edge of the carved Star Sapphire, which they had been gazing at in awe together from the top for some time.
It wasn't the first time that, during their multifaceted discussions, Nasuada had dropped a tiny hint of a more personal approach. They had often talked about their thoughts and ideas, usually concerning the revolution or some other vague ideal, like the purely internal contemplation of freedom. However, this was the first time her speech, though interrupted, clearly revealed her interest in him.
"Last night, you came into my dreams…" Nasuada had said, and Murtagh took a deep breath, trying to calm the pounding in his chest that her mere presence always caused. Her words about his visit to her dreams stirred his youthful imagination, creating hopes. With another deep breath, he filled his lungs with her scent as he followed her steps. Behind them, at a discreet yet close distance, he could distinguish the light footsteps of the maid—Nasuada had called the young woman Farica—who accompanied her.
Today was a holiday for the Varden, and Nasuada had given the little boy, Jarsha, a day off. The plans for the visit to the upper levels of Tronjheim had been made long ago. Nasuada had suggested to Murtagh a tour of the places that once constituted the dragonhold of Farthen Dûr. This would give them the opportunity to observe the carved rose of Isidar Mithrim from its upper side. The sight was truly mesmerizing, and the pair had stood for a long time, admiring the giant circumference of the gemstone and the colors that shifted within its facets as the dim light from the top of the cone continuously moved.
They had ascended to this place, not using the Vol Turin—the endless staircase of the dwarves—but one of the many lifts available either for the transportation of supplies or, more rarely, people. Since the dragons had been extinguished, few had any business in these parts. Stone bridges led radially from the top of the main hall of Tronjheim to the walls of the mountain cone, where the dragon caves were located. Ever since the era of the last dragon riders, the place had been enveloped in heavy silence. One could scarcely fathom the bustling activity it once knew.
"Last night, you came into my dreams…" Murtagh repeated her words once more in his mind. How much he wished he could tell her that she had been his constant dream since the very first moment they met; that he couldn't sleep unless his lips had whispered her name many times; that he always woke up with thoughts of her. However, he didn't dare to mention any of this, not wanting to shatter whatever illusion her unexpected confession had created. He desired instead to prolong the feeling of euphoria for a bit longer. He continued to walk slowly, always adjusting his steps to her side, keeping his hands awkwardly crossed in front of his belt, avoiding any accidental contact with her. The maid always followed behind them, and the distance between them was not enough for their conversations to go unheard by her.
"The dream was terrible," Nasuada continued in the softest voice she could manage, her words barely a whisper, perhaps not wanting anyone but him to hear. "You were about to leave for a battle, and I was bidding you farewell. Strangely, though, you weren't departing with the Varden, but you were going alone." She suddenly stopped and turned, her almond-shaped eyes locking with his grey ones. Her gaze was a poignant blend of seriousness and tenderness, shimmering with unshed tears. "I was desperately trying to advise you not to go, to persuade you that you might be in grave danger."
Murtagh leaned toward her, a smile forming on his lips, wishing he could tell her that he was always close by, that he would never leave her. Quickly, however, he stood upright again, realizing it would be inappropriate to express such feelings. Trying to hide the shivers her gaze caused down his spine behind a mask of seriousness, he said, "But I'm here, I didn't leave. And if I did, it would be for the good of the Varden."
Nasuada cast a furtive glance toward the maid. No matter how slow the girl's steps were, now that they had stopped, she caught up with them. Nasuada abruptly turned and continued walking along the bridge. They neared the dragon dwellings and proceeded along the corridor parallel to the walls. At intervals, entrances to small or larger caves opened on their right. Some of the entrances were huge, places that once housed ancient dragons along with their riders. Within them, spaces carved into the stone for rest were still visible.
To their left, now that they had moved away from the roof sealed with Isidar Mithrim, a gap began to yawn between Tronjheim and the sides of the volcanic crater. The distance they had covered from the city to here was considerable. The natural light of the sun had already waned, and a soft twilight spread around them. Murtagh was having wonderful moments near her, but perhaps if they lingered any longer, they might not see how to descend. It would be better to start heading back. They must have been gone for hours without realizing how time passed.
Whether that was the case, or each minute close to her passed more quickly in some magical way, it was without any pity for him.
Nasuada paused in front of the entrance to a larger cave. "I'm tired," she complained for the first time. "Let's sit for a while." Without waiting for his response, she entered the cave and spread her long skirts over the stone bed carved at the far end.
Murtagh stood by her side, leaning one shoulder against the cold wall, while the maid discreetly remained at the entrance. The darkness was thicker inside the cavernous room, yet the young man could still faintly discern her face. Though the moment when she had confided her dream to him had passed, Murtagh wanted to rekindle some of the magic he had previously been afraid to embrace. "And... was that dream so terrible? The part where I was going to battle?"
Nasuada smiled sweetly while simultaneously indicating the space next to her, inviting him to sit down. "It was just a dream," she said. "Like those where you wake up in the morning and realize that your mind was playing tricks on you while you slept—tricks that have no meaning in everyday life. In the light of day, fears disappear. Don't pay that dream any attention."
After her invitation, Murtagh abandoned his previous awkward posture and sat next to her. They had been this close before, like in the practice field during archery lessons, but never in the dim light. They turned to face each other, staring into each other's eyes. Her hand rested gently on the stone seat, very close to his thigh. Her lips parted slightly, as if she had something more to say, but the silence extended for a few more awkward moments. Despite Farica's presence, the magic was returning. Murtagh leaned towards her again. Her slightly parted, full lips tempted him... what would they taste like on his own?
Nasuada smiled sweetly at him. In his eyes, she discerned immense tenderness. His dark curls framed his youthful face, which had already begun to take on the harder angles of a man's. She couldn't help but think he was handsome, with a beauty enhanced more by his gentleness. How had her father managed to associate this face with that other one, the one in the portrait? The face of Morzan on the wooden surface, with its time-frozen, merciless gaze, expressed unspeakable harshness. How was it possible that his savagery made her father compare him to Murtagh?
If there was any similarity in the color of their hair or other random characteristics, it was nothing more than a coincidence. Murtagh had loved his father, Tornac, perhaps more than most sons love their fathers, which was something Nasuada appreciated about him. They had once talked about those difficult hours during her fencing master's illness, and from the few things Murtagh had said, the girl understood the many efforts he had made to ease his beloved father's final period of illness.
Now, his hand was very close to Nasuada's, their fingers already touching. Murtagh saw her bringing her face closer to his. Their lips were so close, almost joined. At that moment, the maid coughed discreetly, breaking the magic.
"Perhaps we should head back, miss. The light is fading fast. Soon, we won't be able to see."
Nasuada nodded to her maid with a smile. "In a moment, Farica, in a moment." She continued to remain very close to him, turned towards him, but her lips moved away from his face. Her eyes glistened, her gaze turned serious. "Yes, it was terrible. The feeling that you were heading to war alone... to somewhere you would go without return..." she answered his earlier question.
The enchantment of the forbidden kiss may have faded, but the knowledge that Nasuada cared for him lifted Murtagh's spirits. Rising to his feet, he extended his hand to assist her. "Wherever the leader of the Varden commands me, Lady Nasuada, there I shall be, for the good of the revolution," he declared. She grasped his hand as she stood, and he felt the warmth of her palm against his fingers.
"Time has slipped away, and we are now late. It might be best if we returned alone. If you could delay a little longer... Perhaps using another lift would be wiser."
Murtagh bowed deeply. "As you command, Lady Nasuada."
She wagged her finger sternly at him. "I have told you not to call me 'Lady' when we are alone. Are you not my friend and savior?" She then took Farica by the arm, and both of them swiftly disappeared from the cave entrance. For a moment, the rustling of their long skirts echoed in the stone corridor.
Murtagh turned toward the opposite direction from their previous path. He assumed the next lift wouldn't be far, and Nasuada would likely use the one they had ascended with. However, the light was fading fast, urging him to hurry. In the distance, the marble city of the dwarves glistened in the twilight and the glow of magical lamps. The young man walked swiftly, eager to be alone again in his chamber. There, he could reflect on the hours he had spent near Nasuada, recall their conversations, and dream of exchanging that forbidden kiss, the hope of which had been forever lost, hidden in the dark caves of the dragons.
Suddenly, his attention was captured by a strange, dark mass that swiftly passed him and vanished into the tunnel leading into the depths of the mountain on his right. He thought he glimpsed a tail flicking back and forth and heard a growl, which the corridor's dome echoed in both length and intensity.
Murtagh halted, instinctively bringing his hand to the hilt of his sword. What was that? In all his time in Farthen Dûr, he had never seen any animal roaming the corridors. Perhaps, in these secluded places, something had made its nest. He ran to the mouth of the tunnel where he had seen the strange creature vanish. Dense darkness shrouded the depths of the passage, and Murtagh had no desire to risk encountering sharp teeth and claws.
The thought that Nasuada might have been in danger moments ago made him turn back, straining to see through the dim light. However, the two girls must have already used the lift, as they were no longer visible on the bridge leading to the top of Isidar Mithrim.
"Aha! This place may be completely unsuitable for finding fungus, but look what I found! You!"
Murtagh turned abruptly to see a woman emerging from the depths of the tunnel. Puzzled, he approached her. The woman was short, slightly plump, with unruly, dense curls of brown hair bouncing around her face. A bag hung from her belt, with a pair of long needles—the kind women used for knitting woolen clothes—sticking out from its open mouth. She also held her apron folded, and when she stood before him, Murtagh noticed it was full of fungus and toadstools, which grew in the soil around Tronjheim.
The woman tapped her finger on his chest in an unacceptably familiar manner. "So, you are Murtagh, the one they call 'Son of Tornac'!"
It wasn't a question she directed at him, but a statement. Securing the opening of her apron to prevent the gathered fruits of the earth from falling, she put her hands on her hips and began observing him with her bright eyes. Her dense curls moved animatedly as she tilted her head slightly.
"But how..." Murtagh began, only to be abruptly cut off by the woman.
"Hmm... you do resemble your father quite a bit. Yet, in many ways, I'd say you are completely different."
The young man was startled. No one had ever told him he resembled Tornac, except perhaps in their shared skill with the sword. As he was about to ask how she knew him and who she was, he felt a sudden nudge on his right leg. Looking down, he saw the same dark tail that had previously disappeared into the tunnel, twitching on his boot. A black cat, as large as any he had ever seen, with a thick, disheveled coat and amber-colored eyes, was rubbing against him. The woman patted Murtagh amicably on the shoulder and walked past, with the cat lazily following her steps.
"I would consider it a great favor if you didn't mention my presence here to anyone, Son of Tornac," she called over her shoulder. "The Varden might not take kindly to my visit to their territory."
Murtagh stood staring at the woman briskly walking down the stone corridor. Her presence had passed by him so quickly, and her lilting chatter had left him unable to utter a word. However, his mind was now filled with suspicion. He knew how sensitive the rebels were to potential spies of the Empire, and he had never seen her wandering there before. How did she know who he was?
A crystalline, mocking laugh echoed from the woman's direction. The cat turned and looked at him with a strange expression, meowing deeply. "I've been visiting Farthen Dûr for many years, long before the Varden decided to inhabit it," she called out. "So don't worry, they are not in danger from me."
Murtagh stood speechless, watching her and her companion walk away until the shadows concealed her presence. Then he quickly turned toward the next lift and soon forgot about her. His thoughts of Nasuada and the hours they had spent close to each other resurfaced, locking the memories with his soul and love.
Along with them, the dream of the kiss they had not managed to exchange returned.
.*.*.*.
"And the worst of all is that the traders who support us, along with entire caravans of supplies, disappear without anyone knowing what happened to them," Fredric was saying now, gesticulating animatedly.
For some time now, the weapons master of the Varden, along with those who usually sat at his table—including Murtagh—had divided the meager contents of the central platter among their plates. A few boiled bulbs and mushrooms, as well as smaller-than-usual pieces of black bread, were all that each person had. In a few bites, the plates were already empty, leaving the Varden warriors just as hungry as they had been when they first sat around the table. Sipping half of their allotted beer ration, they prolonged the conversation, fooling themselves into thinking that the meal was still ongoing.
In recent weeks, shortages of food and medicine had begun to take a toll. Entire caravans loaded with supplies, which had set out from Surda, vanished without a trace. People, animals, and goods disappeared as if by magic, and rumors of an impending attack by Galbatorix on Farthen Dûr spread like wildfire.
Murtagh simply wished that Gietwald and his men were not among those caravans and people who might have been lost so ingloriously. The caravan guards he knew were tough men, and Murtagh hoped they had survived. Perhaps they were even spending their time somewhere in Surda, without having taken part in any of the ill-fated journeys.
"I can't shake the feeling that this is the work of the dragon-king's magic," Fredric said, and some of his table companions agreed. "We'd better be ready. We might be attacked."
"If the king decides to send his magicians to attack us, our team of magicians will defend us. Let them come! We, who fight with weapons, will sit aside and watch the show. Not even a sword will need to be drawn from its sheath."
Ingolf, responsible for training men in open-field combat, was known to everyone for his jokes. His humor always matched Fredric's witticisms, but Ingolf's serious demeanor was so convincing that no one could ever tell if he meant what he said or if they should laugh.
At the mention of magicians, some at the table wrinkled their noses, muttering, while Fredric burst into wild laughter.
"Especially those two new leaders of the Du Vrangr Gata," he shouted once he had calmed down a bit and caught his breath, "the Twin magicians our leader trusts so much. They'll save us, all right, if they don't run off to save their own hides first."
Murtagh knew well the dislike Fredric had for magicians in general, and especially for the Twins—a dislike shared by most of the Varden warriors. Nevertheless, he also knew that Ajihad firmly believed his two magicians were very useful, which is why he had entrusted them with power.
"It has been heard that even traders who live in the Empire and are friendly to our cause have disappeared without leaving a trace," said Olin, who was rumored to come from a noble family in Surda and whose words always carried weight among the warriors. "There are others whose ships with their goods mysteriously sink, actions that gradually lead to the loss of their fortunes. They will be lucky if they save their lives in the end."
Fredric nodded, his expression turning serious. "There will be a battle. That is certain."
Murtagh couldn't help but agree with the weapons master. The news he had heard suggested that numerous groups sent by Galbatorix had attacked the border villages of Surda, where the Varden kept supplies, weapons, and allies. Fredric was right. The war was approaching fast, and they had to be prepared for anything. No magician could save them if they didn't rely on their sword skills and battlefield prowess. At least, that was what Murtagh intended to do.
"Aye, and another thing," Fredric banged his half-empty cup on the stone table, sending drops of beer splattering around. "Whatever spies the Varden had in the capital, it's been a long time since they last communicated with us. Something suspicious is going on, mark my words."
Olin wiped the beer foam from his mustache. "That's right," he agreed with Fredric. "I've also heard that Ajihad is looking for a volunteer spy, someone who will travel to Urû'baen and become the new liaison with the Varden."
"It should be someone who knows magic. Otherwise, how will they communicate with us?"
The conversations continued for a little while longer. The men finished their beer, handed their empty plates to the cooks, and each headed to their rooms. The departing day had been exhausting for everyone. They couldn't wait to wash off the dust from the training field and steal a bit of sleep, fooling their hunger.
Murtagh lay down on his bed, still dressed, gazing at the rough surface of the ceiling above him. His muscles, sore from training, protested, but he would seek the relief of a bath later, when all the other corridor inhabitants had finished with the bathtubs and were already asleep.
The young man constantly wondered what had made the leader of the Varden trust the Twin magicians so much, overlooking their obviously vile demeanor, their egoism, and their lust for power, to the point of keeping one of them always by his side. Did he not find men just as capable and honest, who were also loyal to him? Was he himself not loyal? Did he not possess knowledge in so many subjects that could be useful? Ajihad, every time they met, treated him with politeness, just like everyone else. Nevertheless, in all his attempts to approach him, the Varden leader kept him at a distance, speaking to him with formal coldness.
Murtagh had envisioned his future with the Varden differently. Despite his broad recognition among the warriors as a skilled archer and swordsman, he aimed for administrative positions close to their leader. However, Ajihad ensured he was kept away from the center of power.
Murtagh fully realized that if he wanted to one day live by Nasuada's side, he first had to gain the deep respect and trust of her father. On one hand, there was the great love for the daughter that tormented his heart and the belief that only by approaching her father in every way could he hope to secure his future with her. On the other hand, it was not only the hope for complete love that made him want to impress the Varden leader. It was also the utmost admiration he now felt for the man.
For months, Murtagh had looked up to Ajihad as his role model. The leader's politeness, magnanimity, wise thinking, courage, and intelligence made Murtagh deeply appreciate him. He respected his views and ideas, admired him for his bravery and accomplishments, and firmly believed in his words. Many times, he caught himself repeating Ajihad's phrases verbatim. Wherever Ajihad was, Murtagh wanted to be there too, as his right-hand man.
In his enthusiasm, he believed that he would gladly sacrifice himself for his leader, fighting as his own shield on the battlefield to save his life. Murtagh felt ready for the ultimate sacrifice and was disappointed that the leader of the Varden continued to treat him formally. Could it be because of his young age? But... wasn't he the one who had once saved his daughter's life? Wasn't he even younger then? Ajihad had said that he owed him a favor. What more did he need to do to earn his trust and bridge the chasm that kept the leader at arm's length?
Murtagh had long decided that he had to approach Ajihad at any cost. As time passed and he grew older, spending months close to the Varden, something inside him insisted that he owed it to himself to stand by his leader. It wasn't just his desire to bond with Nasuada someday; it was also a flame of unrelenting ambition that Murtagh discovered constantly burning within him.
Could this ambition be attributed to the blood of Morzan running through his veins? Was that the reason? His lineage? Could it be that Tornac had never made an effort to eradicate the sense of superiority and arrogance that Murtagh displayed towards others? His adoptive father understood him well, as there were many times he had berated him for this when he had gone too far.
Did Tornac know Murtagh's heart so well that he accepted his nature without trying to change him? He always treated him with a courtesy more fitting for a servant to his lord than a father to his son. Didn't he often affectionately call him 'young master'? Perhaps Tornac believed it was natural for Murtagh to exhibit excessive ambitions for his future. His love for his adoptive son was so great that he accepted him for who he was.
Fleeting questions like these passed through the young man's mind without touching him deeply. He was simply who he was and now had no intention of changing. The love he felt for Nasuada seemed natural, flowing within him like the air he breathed. She might have been the daughter of the Varden's leader, but living so close to her now, he no longer thought of her as the unattainable dream she had been in Aberon. He did not consider Nasuada his superior, nor did he see a future union with her as unacceptable or forbidden. Didn't they both share similar lineage? Her father was elected as the leader of the Varden for his qualifications; his own father was once chosen by a dragon for his. Everyone might have believed he was Tornac's son, and no one knew Murtagh's true lineage. But he knew it well himself.
His skill with the sword also made him stand out. Wasn't Frederic among the first to recognize his worth? Among the rebels, anyone could rise to the highest ranks based on their qualifications. If he could ever get close to Ajihad, gain his trust, and become his right-hand man either in the armies or the administration, the day would come when he would be considered equal to his daughter by everyone. This would also pave the way for his union with Nasuada.
Later, after washing off the dust from the training field in the deserted bath of the dwarves, he thought again about Olin's words from dinner. Ajihad was looking for a volunteer to act as a spy in Urû'baen. He sought someone who, apart from being brave enough to undertake such a dangerous mission, also needed to be active and clever to achieve the expected results.
Murtagh wondered if he could take on this challenge. Among all the Varden, he was the only one with the means to be accepted even in the most immediate surroundings of Galbatorix. Wasn't he the son of Morzan? And hadn't Morzan been Galbatorix's loyalist, his right-hand man? What if Murtagh presented himself in the capital, before the king, and revealed his true identity?
At first, he quickly dismissed the absurdly risky idea from his mind. Tornac hadn't risked so much that night of their escape only for Murtagh to return one day into the king's clutches. He had discussed it with his adoptive father many times, and Murtagh had long since made his decisions. He had rejected his true name, his heritage, and the high position he might have gained within the palace because of his lineage.
But... the Varden? Their cause and their ideas, ideas that he himself shared with Nasuada? He clenched his fists so tightly that his nails dug into his flesh. The hours were passing, and if he didn't make the big decision now, another volunteer might present themselves to Ajihad by morning, taking on the dangerous mission. Perhaps that person had already been found.
He ended up sleepless, tossing and turning all night in his bed, contemplating the idea that pierced his mind like an awl. On one hand, he did not want to be far from Nasuada. On the other hand, if he took on and successfully completed this mission, perhaps the distance that would now separate them would be the very thing that one day brought them closer. If he managed to supply the Varden with secret information and the king's plans, Ajihad would have no choice but to appreciate his efforts.
Ajihad... To convince him to send him, he planned to explain that he had a unique way to be accepted close to Galbatorix. The leader of the Varden was too smart to let such an opportunity go to waste. Surely he would ask how and why it would be possible to achieve what he claimed, and then Murtagh would reveal his secret if necessary. If he had previously sworn utmost loyalty to the leader and their cause, Ajihad would overlook his lineage.
Of course, there was a small voice within his youthful, enthusiastic mind, a voice of self-preservation and logic, that kept repeating the same words. That he would do well to stay where he was, within the safety of Farthen Dûr, close to Nasuada. If the Varden learned that the son of Morzan was among them, they might seek revenge on him for all the hatred they held against his father. Even Ajihad might demand his immediate condemnation, having been deceived when his magicians searched his mind. Worse still, he might finish Murtagh off himself with his sword.
Murtagh, however, blinded by his love for Nasuada, suppressed that little voice. The leader of the Varden, whom he knew and respected, was an honest, fair, and just man. There was no way he would condemn someone for the crimes of another. Murtagh had proven to all the rebels that he was on their side, not only by saving Nasuada but also by joining his fate with theirs and risking his life alongside them. If he returned one day having succeeded in his mission, Ajihad would have to accept him. He would surely be accepted close to him as a person of his immediate trust, quenching the flame of ambition burning within him. And then, through this relationship, he would be able to speak to him about his feelings for Nasuada.
Thus, the big decision was made. The next morning, instead of going to the training field, he would present himself before Ajihad. He would not leave Ajihad's door until he was accepted, until he had sworn his oath to him, until he had spoken to him and offered himself for this dangerous mission: to act as a spy for the Varden in Galbatorix's court.
.*.*.*.
Ajihad looked at the young man who knelt before him waiting, thoughtfully. A short while before, Murtagh, holding his sword with both hands, had pronounced the heaviest oaths that could be offered by a Varden warrior to their cause and to their leader; oaths that declared his deep faith in the revolution, faith that extended to death.
When he presented himself early in the morning at Ajihad's office door, Ajihad had not yet left his bedroom. He found Murtagh waiting with a look full of determination and eyes filled with hope, demanding a private conversation. Ajihad had a lot to do that day. However, he immediately realized he would get rid of Murtagh more quickly if he devoted a few minutes of his valuable time to him than if he refused to listen.
The young man had insistently requested to speak alone, without any of his guards or magicians present. Ajihad, seeing that he had no intention of changing his mind, eventually consented. Once they were alone, Murtagh drew his sword from its sheath, balancing the hilt and blade horizontally on his palms. He knelt in front of the leader and, before Ajihad could stop him, began uttering one after another the heaviest oaths that would bind him to his service. After that, he requested to be the spy who would travel from Farthen Dûr to Urû'baen, claiming that he had a plan to get close to Galbatorix.
"I suppose you understand the gravity of the oaths you just took," Ajihad said with a serious expression. Murtagh was still young, but he had embraced responsibilities in life and on the training field, which made the leader of the Varden confident that his proposal was not due to enthusiasm or dreamy foolishness. "Among the Varden, there is freedom and justice," he continued. "No one is obliged to take oaths like these, but you did so of your own free will." Ajihad nodded to the young man, indicating he could rise. He sat in his office chair and gestured for Murtagh to take a seat opposite him. "Also, when I was considering sending someone as a spy to Urû'baen, I did not have in mind someone as young as you are."
Murtagh sheathed his sword again and sat down opposite Ajihad as directed. "I may still be young, leader, but no one else could accomplish a challenging mission like this as well as I can. There is a way for me to be accepted in Urû'baen and, as I said, to be accepted into the king's inner circle."
Ajihad noticed the young man's sparkling eyes. The certainty in the tone of his voice, even the timbre, reminded him of something. He momentarily found himself shivering with the memory but quickly focused on the present. With a gesture of his hand, he indicated to Murtagh that a statement like this required further explanation. "What do you mean by those words? You may be skillful with the bow and the sword, but there will be many like you in Galbatorix's inner circle. The king himself would never bother with a warrior among his army, no matter how skilled with weapons he may be. However, I imagine that to claim what you do, you have a ready plan, which, as you understand, you must share with me."
Murtagh swallowed hard. The moment he had feared, the moment he had avoided for so many years, had arrived. "It concerns my lineage, sir," he said simply. For the first time since he entered Ajihad's office, he lowered his gaze.
The leader of the Varden sat up in his chair, leaning forward with interest. "Explain yourself!"
"Tornac raised me, and it's true, I loved him as a son should love his father. Even now, that he is no longer alive, and for all the years I will live, I will think of and love him as my father. But… my true parent is another." The young man's voice dropped two tones. He saw Ajihad clenching the corners of his walnut desk, leaning forward with eyes filled with suspicion. His self-defense instinct told him not to continue his revelation. But the decision had been made the night before, and now he understood it was too late to turn back.
"My father was a powerful man, with supreme powers at Galbatorix's side. Someone whose name still invokes fear, hatred, and often contempt. From all this, Tornac once wanted to save me, believing that a child is not responsible for the actions of their father, nor do they have any say over who bore them.
Tornac believed that everyone should have the opportunity to freely choose the course of their life. So, after the death of the one who brought me into the world and kept me captive—imprisoned until I was three years old—when they were leading me to a new captivity in the palace of Urû'baen near the king, Tornac saved me because he loved me. He loved the child he had been entrusted to protect, for who I was and what I could later become.
Tornac, as a true father would, raised me as a free man, with the right to manage my own destiny, my own self. He showed me how to make my own decisions, freely and without fear. In the name of this freedom, I voluntarily committed my abilities and my future to our cause. I took solemn oaths before you, leader. Whoever my real father was, I am not responsible for him, and I did not choose him. No son has chosen his father, nor is he responsible for deeds done before he was born or while he was still a child. I ask for your trust."
Ajihad now looked at him as if he knew the truth. His dark, intelligent eyes sparkled like two obsidian stones, hiding within them a sharp glint, like glass or metal. His broad shoulders seemed to overshadow the desk, and his arms were tensed as if he were about to strike with his bare hands. Nevertheless, he did not speak. Nor did he move. He only waited. Murtagh may have said much, but he had not yet revealed the dreadful name.
Murtagh understood what Ajihad was waiting for and lowered his head as if ashamed. For the first time in his life, he whispered his true name in front of someone other than Tornac. "The man who fathered me was the Dragon Rider Morzan, first and last of the Forsworn."
Ajihad stood up, which prompted Murtagh to do the same. The young man remained still while the leader of the Varden paced thoughtfully around the room. Occasionally, he would stop and let his eyes fall on Murtagh, but the young man could not discern hatred, revulsion, or intent to punish in them. Ajihad seemed more contemplative than troubled. Finally, he stood in front of Murtagh, looking deeply into his eyes.
"I had once known Morzan," he finally said. "When I knew him, he could be considered more of a beast than a man." Ajihad now consciously understood why the presence of this young man always triggered subconscious reactions. Nevertheless, as a just man, he intended to treat him fairly. After all, he did not have Morzan himself in front of him, but his son.
How life brought such twists... Morzan's child fighting among the Varden? Not only giving them, but personally giving him, many binding oaths? Is it possible, or even appropriate, to assign him some future positions of authority? These were thoughts that Ajihad would consider much later, examining all possibilities before deciding. "Apart from your young age, your lineage from Morzan is also a problem. So tell me, Murtagh, why should I trust such an important mission to the son of that man?"
The young man returned the gaze boldly. "I have already addressed the first point. I may be young, but who else among the Varden could claim what I can inside Galbatorix's palace? As for the second..." With a decisive move, Murtagh opened his garment, abruptly baring his shoulders. With his upper body exposed, he turned his back to Ajihad, allowing him to examine his scar. "I owe nothing to Morzan. Nothing except this! It was his own sword that scarred me forever before I was three years old, when he tried to kill me. He would have cut me in two pieces if he hadn't been too drunk to succeed."
Murtagh covered himself again and turned boldly to face the leader of the Varden, cleverly hiding any bitterness in his voice. "Like so many others, I too am a victim of Morzan. Tornac is now my father! He raised me, educated me, and taught me about honor and freedom. I had the time to choose, and I decided. It was an honor to be the son of Tornac, and for no one and nothing would I return to the king to claim the hateful name of Morzan's son along with my heritage. But for your sake and the sake of the Varden, I am willing to do it."
The young man buttoned his jacket and looked decisively into Ajihad's eyes. "Once, when I saved your daughter's life, you said that you owed me the greatest favor. I ask you to repay that favor with this request: send me as a spy to Urû'baen, leader. I swear to you, I will achieve our goal for the good of the Varden."
Ajihad could not help but admire the young man's faith in their cause and his confidence in himself. Patting him amicably on the arm, he motioned for him to sit back in his previous seat. Ajihad himself took his place behind the desk again.
"Things are not as simple as you see them, Murtagh. Your enthusiasm and optimism of youth are truly admirable, but allow me to speak to you with the voice of wisdom and experience. You have, I imagine, heard of Galbatorix's supreme ability to control the minds of all his servants. Since the beginning of his reign, no one has ever boasted of deceiving him. When the king decides, he can extract all the knowledge you possess from your mind. He can read even your innermost thoughts and secrets, like an open book. And you know what that means for all the Varden."
Murtagh laughed roughly. "I've heard it! But without boasting, I have great faith in myself. Through my studies and skills, I have learned well how to protect my thoughts, memories, and ideas. I swear that I would rather die before anyone manages to enter my mind and read them."
Ajihad looked thoughtfully at the young man again. Yes, he resembled Morzan in many ways, but at the same time, he was entirely different. "Regardless, I ask you not to reveal your true lineage to anyone else. For everyone, you will continue to be Tornac's son, as before. No one knows how the Varden might react if they knew what I have now learned; not to mention the dwarves. As for your offer... I will consider it and let you know. You can go now, Murtagh. I have much to do this morning and have certainly spent quite a bit of time with you. I fear I may not be as punctual as I would like with my other meetings."
Ajihad's demeanor made it clear that he would not accept any objections. Murtagh stood up and bowed respectfully before him. Then he turned towards the double doors and quickly exited the leader of the Varden's office. A moment later, the inner side door behind Ajihad creaked open, revealing Nasuada.
The leader of the Varden turned abruptly to see his daughter entering his office. "How long have you been in the side room, daughter?"
"Quite a while, father," the young woman replied modestly.
"Did you hear?"
Nasuada nodded affirmatively. "Everything that was said."
Ajihad looked at her silently. He clearly saw the anxiety and sorrow in her eyes. He wanted to remind her that he had warned her about his concerns regarding Murtagh, but she had not wanted to listen. However, he remained silent, not wanting to sadden her further.
"Then I must also ask of you, daughter, what I asked of the young man. Keep the knowledge of his lineage and everything you heard deeply buried within you. Do not share this with anyone, nor discuss it with him!"
The young woman stood beside him, placing a few documents in front of him. "Refuse his proposal, father," she pleaded. "Do not send him to Urû'baen, to the king and his doom."
Ajihad looked thoughtfully into Nasuada's eyes. He would consider Murtagh's proposal to volunteer as a spy. So far, no one else had offered for the mission, but that did not mean no one would eventually volunteer. Murtagh's lineage directly from Morzan, despite what he had said to him, was not a reason for Ajihad to reject him.
Murtagh had grown up in Aberon under the care of Tornac, a man whom Ajihad deeply respected and liked. Ajihad had almost dismissed the suspicion that Murtagh had joined the Varden in Farthen Dûr with ulterior motives, intending to spy on the rebels and then reveal their secrets to the king in Urû'baen. However, it would be dishonest if he did not take some time to consider it before making a decision. Any suspicions that Murtagh might be acting as a double agent were almost dismissed by Ajihad himself, knowing that Murtagh had taken heavy oaths on his own before requesting to be the Varden's spy. Now, he could be considered loyal to Ajihad, provided he genuinely meant those oaths. Having his own man in Urû'baen, at the king's side no less, was a uniquely valuable opportunity.
"Maybe I'll reject him, daughter," he finally said to Nasuada. "But maybe I'll accept your friend's proposal."
The young woman frowned. "Father, you know better than anyone that if the king decides to breach Murtagh's mind, he will discover everything. No one is strong enough to protect their secrets from Galbatorix, regardless of their claims about their knowledge. Don't let him risk his life."
Ajihad looked at her sternly. "Do you have nothing to say about the fact that he is Morzan's son and hid it from us?"
"Does that make him any less my savior?" Nasuada answered boldly. "He not only risked his life to save me on the walls of Aberon, but he also willingly joined the rebels. I have spoken with him many times about his ideas, and I have faith and trust in his intentions. No matter whose son he is, he remains Murtagh." The young woman shivered. She had not only heard... she had also seen!
...The scarred one of the prophecy... And from a great lineage...
The seer's words now swirled around Nasuada's mind. She would never have associated Murtagh's face with the prophecy. But from the moment she saw the diagonal, terrible scar that split his shoulder blades in two, she was certain that Mama-Āssefa had once referred to him. As she listened to him speak about that past terror, she imagined the child's suffering. That old anguish, which perhaps led to Tornac's decision to take him away from Urû'baen... To Urû'baen, where he now willingly accepted to return...
Someone who had managed as a child to survive a wound like that was surely strong and powerful as a man. Surely the prophecy referred to him.
Ajihad shrugged as he picked up the first document that Nasuada had placed in front of him. The young woman's previous words were yet another reason to accept Murtagh's offer to depart for Urû'baen. It had not escaped his notice that recently, this young man and his daughter had grown very close. Of course, at some point, someone would come along to claim Nasuada's unique love and interest. However, both his daughter and this young man were still young. Ajihad considered the distance he would place between them to be positive. "Murtagh insists that he has ways to protect himself. If he can get close to the king as Morzan's son, what could be better?"
Nasuada clasped her hands, squeezing her fingers anxiously. "Everyone knows that the king has ways to enslave others."
"It is a risk that he himself accepts," said Ajihad, focusing on the document before him. What he did not say, however, was that even if Murtagh failed, if he was forced to serve the king against his will, or even if he became the king's man swayed by the promise of excessive powers, his knowledge of the Varden's secrets was limited. The risk of loss was manageable, but the potential gain was significant. "I am telling you what I told him," he murmured to Nasuada, his tone indicating his focus was on the matters at hand. "I will consider his proposal and maybe reject it."
.*.*.*.
Murtagh packed his few belongings into his bag. Darkness had fallen long ago in Farthen Dûr, and now night had settled in. Murtagh would travel through the tunnels all night, which connected the underground city to the outer gates of the mountain. He estimated that he would reach the exit of the dwarves' refuge before the first light of the new day broke. Ajihad had promised him that there he would find supplies for the journey and a horse provided by the Varden for his trip to Urû'baen.
The journey to the empire's capital that the Varden leader recommended was not the same route he had taken to reach Farthen Dûr from Aberon. The advanced autumn would have covered the mountain paths with the first snows, making the passes impassable. Murtagh would take the longer route, from Lake Beartooth to the wide valley running parallel to the mountains, ending at the desert's edges. The journey was dangerous for groups, let alone for someone traveling alone. He might encounter bandits, slavers, or even border groups of imperial soldiers sent to skirmish with Surda. And that was if he managed to evade the packs of wolves and other wild beasts nesting on the slopes within the Beor Mountains' forests.
Murtagh did not mind undertaking the journey alone, nor did he concern himself with potential dangers from soldiers, bandits, and slavers. Not after the confrontation with the magicians.
Two days ago, he had successfully faced the trial with the twin magicians of Du Vrangr Gata, leaving him tired but satisfied. Before deciding whether to send him to Urû'baen, Ajihad had required Murtagh to be examined once again by the twins. If these supreme magicians managed to penetrate his mind and discover his secret, it would mean that the young man did not have the strong mental protections he claimed. Failure would result in the leader of the Varden refusing him the mission.
Driven by the desire to take action as a spy for the rebels, hoping to succeed and gain Ajihad's recognition—and subsequently Nasuada's—Murtagh accepted. Having successfully hidden his childhood and the secret of his lineage once before, he was confident he could do it again.
However, confronting both magicians simultaneously was far more challenging than facing just one. With great difficulty, Murtagh managed to conceal the deepest memories of his childhood, which the two magicians seemed particularly interested in, especially the female, maternal figure hidden in the shadows. This time, Murtagh was not entirely sure that the Twins hadn't glimpsed some of what he kept hidden about her in his mind.
Despite the strength Murtagh exhibited and the skill with which he blocked his memories to divert the Twins to other parts of his mind, the confrontation left him weak and in pain. He might have lost consciousness at some point during the examination, though he was unsure. Nevertheless, the magicians informed Ajihad that what they discovered in Murtagh's mind was what they already knew.
It took the leader of the Varden a day to consider the pros and cons. The day before, he had called Murtagh to his office and officially assigned him the mission. He made Murtagh memorize the necessary information regarding the Varden's contacts in the capital and gave him advice he believed would help him succeed. After that, he left him to bid farewell to his friends and comrades and to rest for a few hours.
The young man finished packing, tied his bag's laces, and fastened his heavy leather jacket after strapping on his sword. He slung his bow and quiver of arrows across his shoulder. Holding the strap of his bag, he glanced around, bidding farewell to his small, solitary room for a long time.
Suddenly, a discreet knock at the door startled him. Ajihad had expected him to traverse the tunnels alone, without attracting much attention, and had promised that his final orders would await him near the exit. He had already bid farewell to his friends and comrades, who had been asleep for some time. Who else could it be?
Puzzled, he left the bag on the empty bed and opened the door. In the doorway stood someone covered in a long cloak with a hood that reached their eyes—tall for a dwarf, but short for a man. Murtagh turned his body slightly, letting the candle on the table illuminate the unknown figure. The hood lifted slightly, revealing two almond-shaped eyes under arched eyebrows, looking at him with sweetness. ...Nasuada!...
Heart pounding, Murtagh quickly stepped aside, letting the young woman enter the room. She slipped inside hastily, her delicate scent lingering in the corridor along with the faint rustle of her skirt. Though Murtagh intended to leave the door open for propriety's sake, she made sure to close it behind her.
"Lady Nasuada?" He had not expected this nighttime visit. They had formally bid farewell in front of the other Varden archers that very morning on the practice field.
"Murtagh!" Nasuada gave him a strained yet charming smile.
"Nasuada, I..."
She pushed back the hood of her cloak and reached for his hands. "I couldn't let you leave without saying goodbye in person. There are some pieces of advice I want to give you."
Her demeanor was serious, almost stern. Over the past few days, Nasuada had tried to dissuade him. In her opinion, he was the least suitable for this mission, and she had done everything to express her opposition both to Ajihad and Murtagh. Although he could not reveal anything about his lineage to her, he continued to counter her arguments.
Yes, he might be young, but that was precisely why he wouldn't raise suspicions. What could be more natural than a young, capable swordsman seeking his fortune in the capital? He might be inexperienced, as she claimed, but experience is gained through lived moments. He reassured her that he would follow Ajihad's instructions to the letter and be cautious. He would wait before seeking out the Varden's contacts in the capital, remaining suspicious without showing it and trusting no one easily.
"It's too late to change your mind, Murtagh," Nasuada said. "But know this, you will surely be in danger."
"All the Varden may be in danger, Nasuada," he replied. "Freedom without dangers cannot exist. That is what my father taught me, and he taught me well with his example."
The young woman gazed into his eyes for a moment, her look deep and full of interest. "And my father taught me that the ultimate good is freedom and self-determination," she emphasized. "However, we must not undertake risky actions without prudence or take unreasonable risks. And what you intend to do..."
"Someone has to do it, Nasuada," Murtagh interrupted. He had not dared to mention his feelings for his daughter to Ajihad himself, waiting first to succeed in his mission. However, he had hinted to Nasuada about his desire for a future together when he would return to Farthen Dûr. She had accepted his words in silence, neither rejecting nor agreeing. The thought that he might fail in Urû'baen or the fear that he might not return never crossed his mind. "If I want to find my rightful place among the Varden, I must not avoid such risks."
Her eyelids fluttered like frightened birds. Her hands were warm in his, but her palms were sweaty. Murtagh brought both to his lips and tenderly kissed the top. "I promised you I'd be careful, my lady," he said gently. "I will only do what I am commanded, without reckless or irrational actions. I plan to stay in my new service for about a year; I can't endure being away from the Varden longer. Before the next fall, I will be back."
Nasuada pulled her hands from his. The fervent confidence and trust in his success did little to reassure her. However, she was glad to find him so ambitious, as she was herself. This, more than anything else, drew her to him, along with the mutual admiration for Ajihad, the shared ideas, and his skills. She brought her hands to her neck and pulled a leather cord from her collar. At its end was a tiny, carved black wooden owl. Nasuada kissed the pendant, then passed the cord over his head, offering it to him.
"My patron goddess, Gokukara, has the owl as her symbol. Accept this talisman I offer you and always wear it around your neck. I'll feel more at ease, my dear friend, knowing you have her protection. The owl symbolizes sharpness of mind and wisdom. May it always guide you to walk the safest paths of life with prudence and make wise choices."
"I will keep your gift safer than my own eyes," Murtagh promised. Before hiding the talisman among his clothes, he kissed the spot where her lips had touched.
Nasuada covered herself with her cloak and pulled the hood down to her eyes. "It would be unwise for both of us if I extended my stay here," she said. She squeezed his hand one last time and disappeared with quick steps into the corridor shadows, leaving him alone, greedily breathing in the lingering scent of her perfume. On his chest, he felt the precious, tiny weight of the carved black wooden owl.
Hours later, as he walked through the dimly lit corridor from Tronjheim to the gates of Farthen Dûr, he thought he spotted the same strange woman he had encountered in the dragonhold's tunnels. Passing in front of a dwarven enchanted lamp, Murtagh saw that she was heavily laden. She held a large pot with a lush green plant and carried a huge backpack on her shoulders. Behind her skirts, he glimpsed the fluffy black cat that accompanied her.
The young man quickened his pace, but no matter how fast he walked, she seemed to disappear into one of the tunnels that opened off the main corridor, leading who knows where. To Murtagh, it seemed the woman was hastily leaving Farthen Dûr, judging by how heavily laden and dressed she was. He wondered about this, as he didn't know of any other exits to the Beartooth River and the valley. Soon, however, he focused on thoughts of his journey, forgetting about her presence entirely.
In front of the gates, Ajihad himself awaited him along with his guards. His loaded horse with supplies was handed over to him, along with final instructions. With the blessings of the leader of the Varden, he set off on his mission.
For six months, Murtagh had lived with the rebels. He was now moving away from Farthen Dûr, embarking on a journey of around five weeks to Urû'baen. In a few days, he would be seventeen years and two months old. By the time he turned eighteen, his fate would surely have changed. Ajihad would have to accept him, and circumstances would unite his future with that of Nasuada.