The First Journey

"Allow me to tend to your wounds... Close your eyes and find rest. A new dawn awaits your journey..."

With ecstatic joy, he stretched out his hands and gently took hers in his palms… Overcome with emotion, he brought her hand to his lips, kissing the soft hollow between her thumb and forefinger—the spot she once loved the most… His heart swelled with gratitude for the supreme blessing she bestowed upon him…

He closed his eyes and let himself rest… When he opened them again, the world appeared different… Or perhaps, it was he who had changed...

.*.*.*.

Two weeks had passed since Tornac's funeral, and Murtagh had yet to enter the room where the man who raised him like a true father had died. He drifted through the house like a shadow, spending brief moments in the small bathroom or the kitchen, and avoiding even his own room next to the fencing master's. Instead, he relocated most of his activities to the large hall on the ground floor, where the fencing master used to receive his students and give his lessons.

Throughout the months of Tornac's declining health, Murtagh had prepared for the inevitable death that was coming to their door by taking on all the household and work responsibilities. These duties had made him capable of taking care of himself. Yet, nothing had prepared him for the overwhelming loneliness that struck him suddenly after his beloved father's death."

Lessons had stopped, and the school had closed for mourning, but in the initial days, many visited the house to pay their respects to the beloved teacher, neighbor, and friend. Compassionate neighbors offered to bring food, tidy up, and even provide hospitality to the son for a few days. However, Murtagh refused all offers. As the wave of visitors subsided, he isolated himself in the house, refusing to face the world, and searched within his heart for ways to bury memories. Memories that emerged like ghosts from his distant past, haunting his days and nights. On the ground floor, on a blanket spread in the corner, he sat all day, eating the few remaining provisions from the kitchen cupboards, sleeping there, and battling his ghosts.

Never before had he truly realized what Tornac had given him. It wasn't just a new life, far removed from an unbearable past and a name that spread terror. It wasn't only the freedom to live as he wished. It wasn't even the abundant, selfless love that enveloped him. Above all, it was the sense of belonging... of being with someone. Tornac was the family he had never had and suddenly acquired...

These were habits of so many years that had intertwined their daily lives in countless activities. Even the responsibilities that were too heavy for his age, Murtagh had embraced them. Now Tornac had suddenly gone, leaving him alone, having lost everything he loved: his protector, his father, his teacher, a friend... Nasuada...

It was this final thought, the thought of her, that gradually drew his mind away from the darkness. It led him away from the ghosts of death and suffering that surfaced from his past, threatening to drain his young life. The thought of Nasuada guided him to solid paths, helping him bury his past and focus on the future—not his recent past, but the distant one. The love he had for his father, Tornac, would never be forgotten, nor would he ever forget everything he owed to the courage and determination of that man.

Tornac had permanently entered his life, altering his predetermined destiny. For that, Murtagh would be eternally grateful. He would proudly carry Tornac's name as a badge of honor. He was now Murtagh, Tornac's son, and that would never change. Yet, what he would always strive to forget were the others—those whose actions had shaped his harsh character from a young age, making him a loner, a prisoner, an outcast. He would forget them, for they never truly wanted him and had hurt him in both soul and body.

Tornac had saved him! Tornac was for him a father, mother, brother—his entire family. Even though he had lost him now, Tornac would always remain a cherished memory in his thoughts. However, he refused to remain alone any longer. He refused to accept that he no longer had a family or that he belonged nowhere and to no one. What would his father, Tornac, do in his place? What would he advise him? Tornac had already told him: he urged him to follow the path of his heart!

…Nasuada... The Varden...

Feeling the need to belong, Murtagh made his decision. Where he couldn't venture for months due to his father's severe illness, he would now go. To Farthen Dûr! To Nasuada and the Varden! There, a new family awaited him, a new purpose—somewhere to belong!

.*.*.*.

Murtagh folded Tornac's last shirt and reverently placed it on the smaller of the two piles of clothes arranged on the now empty bed. From the moment he decided to leave for Farthen Dûr, a surge of energy replaced the lethargy and indifference that had plagued him for weeks. He spent the morning sorting through Tornac's belongings, separating the few items he would keep as mementos from the many he would distribute to those in need.

Some of these items he could use himself: shirts, vests, belts, leather cuffs, and fencing gloves. Murtagh had grown taller over the past few months. Approaching sixteen, he was quickly surpassing Tornac in height and build, as Tornac had been before the illness. A few items would stay in the drawers as a memory of someone who had passed away. But most, he had already packed to donate.

Murtagh laid out the remnants of Tornac's medicines on the dresser, the ones Tornac hadn't had the chance to use. He intended to return them to the doctor the next day, so they could be donated to the poor in need. Murtagh knew well that Tornac always trusted his doctor. Beyond their professional relationship—Tornac had once trained the doctor's two sons in swordsmanship, and the doctor had consistently treated him for a minimal fee during his illness—they shared a prudent friendship, a bond forged over years.

Tornac had generally avoided close social interactions in Surda. However, some had sought his friendship over time, appreciating his honesty, fairness, and skill with weapons. Among them was a man named Gietwald.

Murtagh held Tornac's empty sword scabbard in his hands—the same sword they had used to escape the Empire years ago. Tornac had always been proud of the quality of the metal and the sharpness of that blade. Although he had wielded many swords in his life, this one was his favorite. Murtagh had buried it with his fencing master, laying the sharp blade on his beloved father's body, crossing his hands over the hilt on his chest. Now, he wandered the room with the empty scabbard in his hands. It was too long to fit in any drawer, so Murtagh placed it in the middle of the mattress, to remain there, guarding the empty bed. It was a shame that his own sword didn't fit in that scabbard...

The thought of Gietwald returned to his mind.

Tornac met Gietwald during the early days when they first arrived in Aberon, before he even acquired this house and opened the fencing school that would later become renowned in Surda. During that time, both of them worked as guards for a merchant. Later, Tornac chose the path of a fencing instructor, while Gietwald organized his own caravan guard group. Recently, Murtagh had sought him out for a job, knowing that Gietwald led caravans with supplies to the Varden. Not only the lords of Surda, but also many other merchants of the Empire secretly supported the rebels, sending them supplies and all necessary goods. Despite Murtagh's young age and lack of experience, Gietwald accepted him. The esteem he held for Tornac was enough for him to trust Tornac's son.

On the morning after tomorrow, Murtagh would leave Surda. He would leave behind the house in Aberon, the life he had known, and the memories of the father he had lost. He would seek a new destiny in Farthen Dûr, close to the Varden. Close to the one he had loved so deeply and whom his heart could not forget: Nasuada.

.*.*.*.

The caravan set off before dawn, the goods loaded onto mules during the night. As the first light of dawn appeared on the horizon, they were already passing through Aberon's gates, which had just opened. The merchants, animal handlers, and armed escorts walked across the plain heading east. In less than two days, they were outside the lands of Surda, then turned south, taking the coastal road with the towering Beor Mountains to their left."

The height of the mountains impressed Murtagh, who, despite having heard and read about their size, had never traveled to these parts before. He noticed, however, that even his companions and fellow travelers, who knew the area well, cast awe-filled glances at the steep, distant peaks. The caravan, a long line of twenty animals and twice as many people, continued its coastal journey, bypassing the first mountain mass they encountered.

To their right stretched the vast southern sea, with only a cluster of small islands visible in the distance. The sight was as mesmerizing as the mountains, and Murtagh often found himself gazing at the endless blue. His breath filled with the salty sea air, and his heart yearned to travel into the infinite unknown. If he hadn't already committed himself to Farthen Dûr and the hope of Nasuada, he would have loved to journey by ship into that mysterious sea.

"You're right to keep an eye out that way!" Without noticing him, Gietwald had approached and was walking beside him. The leader of the caravan guards looked uneasy. "There's always a risk of pirates in these parts. They might not be visible at first glance, as their hideouts are well-hidden among the rocks of those islands, but they always have their eyes on the shore. If they decide to attack, the caravan won't be able to move quickly enough to evade them."

Murtagh shaded his eyes with his hand and squinted toward the tiny islands for a better look. The sun had long passed its zenith and was now sinking toward the sea, blurring the horizon so that little could be seen clearly. "I don't see anything," he said, straining to make out more detail.

"It's not their time," Gietwald muttered, spitting towards the sea. "If they are nearby and decide a raid is worth it, they will wait until dark. Then they will attack. But we will be ready for them."

Gietwald chuckled meaningfully, stroking the bone handle of the knife at his belt. He then moved ahead to catch up with the caravan leader to discuss the night's camp. Murtagh's mind was filled with worry about the presence of pirates, but it wasn't enough to diminish his admiration and longing for the beauty of the vast sea.

Later that evening, after the guard shifts had been assigned and the first watch was already at their posts, Murtagh shared the evening meal with Gietwald and the others. They all sat around a fire, closer to the foothills of the mountains rather than the waves, ensuring a safe distance between the caravan and the sea. The merchants and their men unloaded the goods, stacking and covering them, feeding the animals, tying them together, and setting up their small tents for the night. Dusk had long fallen, painting the deep waters of the sea in crimson, until the sun's disc sank into its unknown depths.

"This is our last night in the open," Gietwald remarked, nibbling on his food. He, along with some others and Murtagh, were assigned the second watch of the night—the most perilous shift. However, Gietwald always preferred to have the young man by his side, as he said, to keep an eye on him. "From tomorrow, our route changes. We will follow the mountain path heading east. After navigating the narrow gorge—a journey that will take several days—we will emerge, gods willing, into a wide valley. From there, our route becomes easier. We will follow the Beartooth River's course to the smaller valley of Odred, to Lake Kóstha-mérna. There, our journey ends, for there lie the gates of Farthen Dûr."

Dinner was the only main meal of the day, and Murtagh dug into his bowl, hungrily devouring his food. Despite his hunger, Gietwald's description of the route piqued his curiosity."Are there other routes to the land of the Dwarves?" he asked, his mouth full. Gietwald nodded as he swallowed.

"There's a route to the northeast of Surda, parallel to the mountains. From there, one needs to enter the Empire's lands, cross part of the outskirts of the Hadarac Desert, and then head toward the mountain foothills. In about a week's journey, you'll encounter the beginning of the same wide valley that we're heading toward now. After that, it will take at least two more days' travel to reach the lake where the Beartooth River flows. Then, the path is the same."

"We should have taken that route too," said one of the caravan guards, wiping his bowl with a piece of bread. "The last time we crossed the gorge, we lost two good comrades and many animals."

Gietwald nodded again. "That's true," he said heavily. "But the weather was bad then. Now, spring is coming."

"The weather is always bad in the mountains," insisted the other guard. "We had better..."

Gietwald abruptly cut off the man with a sharp gesture of his hand. "Don't think the other route is without its dangers," he said to Murtagh. "If the routes weren't dangerous, caravans wouldn't need guards." He looked the young man in the eyes. "The outskirts of the Hadarac Desert are filled with bandits and slavers. Not to mention, we might even encounter some remote forces of the Empire. Many times we've fought bravely to survive and lost good comrades."

Another man, whom Murtagh had heard called Rikulf, continued the tale. "On this route, the danger comes from the pirates, who lurk on the small islands you see over there," he said, gesturing vaguely toward the sea. "Fortunately, the danger doesn't last long. By this hour tomorrow, we will be so far from the sea that none of those scoundrels would have imagined reaching us."

"The dangers don't end there," Gietwald resumed. "The mountain path is full of ice, sometimes rocks tumble down the slopes, and in the caves, there are wild beasts whose size you can't even imagine."

Rikulf shivered, muttering something that sounded like 'shrrg,' and got up to unroll his blankets.

"Yes, Shrrg!" Gietwald repeated. "That wolf is gigantic, one of the unique species of the mountains. There's even a tribe of dwarves named after them. There are also enormous bears..." The leader quickly drained his cup. "But nothing surpasses the size and ferocity of the Nagra."

Murtagh had read about this species of wild boar. They lived in the forests of the dwarven mountains, and their meat was considered a royal delicacy. However, he could never have imagined their size and ferocity when provoked.

Gietwald set his bowl of food on the ground beside him and rolled up his sleeve. "Look at this!" In the middle of his thick arm was a dark indentation, a scar from an old, deep wound. "From a Nagra tusk," he said grimly. "I almost lost my whole arm to the infection back then. I was just lucky. My comrade received a similar wound to the stomach. He died within hours." Gietwald took his bowl back into his hands. "I'm showing you this in case you get the idea to hunt Nagra with your bow. Best to avoid it."

Murtagh listened, captivated by the descriptions. The world was vast and complex, and he was still very young. A sense of adventure overtook him, making him eager to hear more. But his attention quickly returned to his primary interest—Nasuada and the Varden.

"Tell me more about the city of the dwarves we're heading to," he requested. "The one where the Varden live." For a while now, he had forgotten to finish his meal, listening in rapture.

"Gietwald swallowed another bite. "I doubt we will see Tronjheim, the city of eternal twilight," he declared. "The dwarves are very cautious about letting anyone roam freely within their tunnels. Consider yourself lucky if you manage to catch even a glimpse of the labyrinthine network of passages connecting the main gate—where we will enter—to the city."

Hearing these words, Murtagh smiled. "But I'll see everything! After all, my goal isn't to return but to stay with the Varden."

Gietwald frowned at him. "And why, pray tell, would you do such a thing?"

Murtagh shrugged nonchalantly. "I have my reasons."

Gietwald remained silent, his gaze fixed gloomily on the bottom of his bowl as he swallowed bite after bite. He might have been angry that Murtagh had hidden the real reason he joined the caravan; he might have even been worried about losing the young guard he relied on for the journey. In the end, he tried to dissuade him.

"I understand that you may have your reasons," he said, waving his spoon towards Murtagh, "but remember this: humans were born to live under open skies, not in dwarven burrows. I may not know much about letters like you do, but I know this. No matter how beautiful and rich the dwarven cities are, they can't compare to the blue light of a sunny day or the bright stars of a clear night. Their cities might hide precious treasures, but no human could endure their burrows."

Gietwald crumbled the remaining bread into small pieces and tossed them into his bowl. "Don't pay attention to what the Varden do," he continued, shaking his head. "They have to endure the dwarven tunnels for safety reasons. Otherwise, they'd be lost." He fixed his gaze on Murtagh. "Besides, you should know that anyone who decides to join and stay with them is subjected to a thorough mind examination by a group of sorcerers they've recruited. I assure you, it's very unpleasant."

Hearing these words, Murtagh frowned. No one had told him about a mind examination among the Varden, nor could he have imagined such a thing. He had reasons to avoid such an examination. The risks of his true heritage being revealed were immense. He definitely did not want to be recognized as Morzan's son, and Tornac had advised him to be exceedingly careful about this.

His once-adventurous spirit now weighed heavily on him. He bowed his head in silence and quickly finished his meal. After saying goodnight, he laid out his blankets and lay down to sleep for the few hours remaining until his watch. Yet the conversation with Gietwald made sleep elusive. The thought that, despite all his efforts, he might never be with Nasuada again drove him crazy. Would he reach the source like a thirsty man, only to find he could not drink the water?

In the end, it was Murtagh's youth and eagerness that brought him relief. Ajihad, who owed him a favor, would surely spare him from the mind examination. Why would the leader of the Varden want to subject his benefactor, the one who saved his daughter's life, to such a humiliating ordeal? Murtagh slept contentedly for the remaining hours, dreaming of Nasuada waving to him. When Gietwald shook him awake in the middle of the night for his watch, his mood was once again relaxed. Each passing day and night brought him closer to the beloved of his heart.

.*.*.*.

The night passed quietly, without a pirate raid. However, the mountain path they took the following morning proved more treacherous than expected. Both animals and men struggled on the journey, and the scattered patches of ice didn't help at all. Despite it being spring, the cold was biting, and sleet often came down from the peaks, soaking them to the bone. Finally, they reached the narrow gorge that wound like a serpentine road between the two mountainsides.

Huge rocks around them blocked out the daylight, and the stones that frequently fell from above added to the already rocky path, making their journey even harder. At least the wind was cut off down there, and the howling of the wild animals sounded more distant. Finally, one afternoon, after six days of difficult travel, they reached the exit of the gorge near a small pond, where they all camped, exhausted. The following morning, they followed the bed of the Beartooth River, heading toward the valley that Gietwald had named Odred. They crossed Lake Kóstha-mérna, bypassing its small waterfalls, until they arrived in front of the closed, secret gates of Farthen Dûr.

Murtagh thought that if someone didn't know the route well, they would never have reached this point. However, Gietwald and some merchants from the caravan had made this journey before, perhaps many times. Dwarven guards appeared almost out of nowhere when the caravan leader shouted the correct password, and soon all of them—people and laden animals—were inside the bowels of the mountain. The gate closed behind them, taking with it the last light of day.

They walked along a wide corridor, illuminated by a faint blue light emitted by a long row of lamps that seemed to glow without a flame. Murtagh wondered about this but thought it was not the right time for such questions. Surely, he would learn later about the strange lamps and many other mysteries, like how they had managed to sculpt the smooth floors and walls. Around them, dwarf guards in armor, holding axes, walked alongside Varden men with spears pointed at them. Soon, Gietwald and his men were separated from the merchants and animal handlers, who were led to another area to unload the goods. The caravan guards were asked to surrender all their weapons, and Gietwald signaled his men to comply.

"They will be given back to us later," he said to Murtagh, "when it's time to depart again for Surda."

Murtagh reluctantly handed over his sword, knife, and bow with a quiver full of arrows and followed the others into the hall where the dwarves led them. The space was smaller here, and the light was brighter. Around the walls were beds to accommodate twice as many men. There were also water containers and basins, allowing them to wash and clean their clothes from the dust of the road. A stone table stood in the center, with long benches on its two long sides. He even noticed the entrance to an adjacent room, a small lavatory where they could retreat for their needs. Murtagh chose a bed and placed his bag with his belongings on it.

"I will ensure that your meal is served immediately," said a short, red-haired dwarf to Gietwald. Despite his sturdy and stocky appearance, he only reached the shoulder of the guards' leader. "If you need anything, my warriors will always be outside your door. Just knock, and they will come."

"Thank you, Knurla," replied Gietwald. "Although our journey was easy this time and we didn't face any serious dangers, we are all very tired."

Murtagh approached Gietwald. "How long will we stay here?" he asked.

The guard leader gave the young man a puzzled look. "Until the merchants are ready to set off again, no more than two or three days. Anyway, we need the rest."

"Prisoners?" Murtagh's disappointment was evident. He had imagined his first encounter with the Varden in Farthen Dûr differently.

Gietwald patted him amicably on the shoulder. "I told you, lad, the dwarves are suspicious. They don't easily trust outsiders, and we know our way around weapons too well for them to let us wander around unescorted."

Murtagh sat on the edge of his bed, deep in thought. The dwarf had mentioned that if they needed anything, they should ask the guards outside. He considered knocking on the door immediately to request an audience with Ajihad. For hours, ever since he had first laid eyes on the stone gates of Farthen Dûr as they approached, his heart had been filled with anticipation to see Nasuada again. Just as he was about to act on his thoughts, the door opened, and a group of dwarves entered the room, placing trays of bread, pitchers of beer, and platters of food on the table.

The men immediately settled down and began to eat. Seeing them, Murtagh felt his hunger intensify and eagerly took a place among them. The dinner was delicious and plentiful, consisting of roasted fish and some kind of boiled bulbs soaked in vinegar. The bread was freshly baked and steaming, with a crispy crust and a soft inside. Despite essentially being prisoners, the atmosphere at the table was relaxed, and the stout beer flowed generously from the pitchers. Murtagh wasn't used to drinking, but he downed two full mugs along with his meal. When the platters were empty and the men were satisfied, they washed up one by one and lay down on the beds. Murtagh felt dirty and exhausted, deciding he wasn't in a condition to present himself before Ajihad or, of course, before Nasuada. That night, he would rest and prepare himself for his mission the next morning.

As he lay down on his bed, he didn't even have time to whisper her name, as he did every night, before sweet sleep enveloped him.

.*.*.*.

"What do you mean, I don't have the right to see the leader of the Varden?"

Murtagh had felt a sharp anger bubbling inside him for a while. He had asked the dwarf guards to lead him to Ajihad, but they had refused, laughing and speaking among themselves in their rough, strange language, as if mocking him. When he insisted further, they seemed to become angry. But when he claimed he wanted to join the Varden, they sent for a human captain, who arrived fully armed with two of his men. They led Murtagh to a small nearby room and locked him inside to wait for hours. When the door finally opened, instead of Ajihad, a young woman entered with a dozen guards. She made it clear that there was no way his request would be granted. It was impossible to see Ajihad, at least not before undergoing a mind examination.

Now the woman looked at him with contempt in her slit blue eyes, while the armed guards formed a circle around them, their hands threateningly touching the hilts of their swords. "The leader of the Varden has far more important things to do than to meet everyone who claims they want to join us. However, the rebels never refuse any aid in the struggle. But this will only happen after we examine your mind and see your true intentions and desires. Many have tried to join us, either seeking only personal recognition and power or wishing to harm us. By reading their minds, they were exposed."

Murtagh gave her a more careful look. Someone might have called her beautiful, with her black hair and blue eyes, if her mouth didn't twist into that wry, arrogant smile, distorting her features. The most impressive part, however, was the golden ornament on her arm—a coiled snake whose red eyes seemed ready to come to life at any moment. Murtagh crossed his arms over his chest, determined to confront her in a manner similar to her own.

"My desire is to see Ajihad," he emphasized again. "The leader of the Varden owes me a great favor, and I am certain that if you mention my name to him, not only will he accept me, but he will also spare me from this bothersome investigation. My name is Murtagh, son of Tornac."

The woman's blue gaze fixed on him. His demeanor, if nothing else, wiped the ironic smile off her lips. "They call me Trianna, Murtagh son of Tornac," she said. "Trianna, daughter of Healer, and guardian of Lorga," she added, proudly displaying the golden snake bracelet on her arm. "You understand, of course, that the mind examination is for the safety of the Varden. You must know that no one, for any reason, can avoid this fate."

"I will avoid it," he continued with the same insolent tone he had taken before, noticing that he had some influence over her. "Just lead me to Ajihad, and he will protect me from this trial."

Too late, he realized that his tone had done him little good. The woman looked at her guards, laughing, and with a nod, two of them grabbed him by the arms and held him tightly.

"Just?" Trianna repeated his words mockingly. "Lead you to Ajihad just like that? No, my dear! First, you will be examined so we can learn your intentions. Then, if you are worthy, our captains will take you to the barracks."

Trianna extended her hand toward him, clearly intending to grasp his forehead with her slender fingers. The snake on her arm seemed even more alive and threatening than before, its red eyes gleaming ominously. Murtagh resisted fiercely; he would not easily allow someone with magical prowess to penetrate his mind. More guards rushed at him, holding him down with brute force, and one of them struck him hard on the back. The intense pain from the blow took his breath away.

"Nooo!" Summoning the last vestiges of his strength, he tried to push the guards away, striking back as best he could.

"Why does he resist so fiercely, witch?" asked a man who seemed to be a Varden captain. "Does he have much to hide after all?"

Now the guards managed to pin him down, forcing him to kneel before her. Someone yanked his hair back violently. Trianna approached, but this time she seemed hesitant to examine him. In fact, she didn't even attempt to touch him.

"Perhaps he is not who he claims to be," she said, malice coloring her voice. "That is why he resists us so fiercely. It would be better to call the Twin magicians to examine him. He might be someone sent by the king. The Twins will neutralize Galbatorix's magic after they have extracted everything from his mind." With a nod, one of the soldiers ran out of the room to carry out her order. "If you want to become one of us, you will do it our way," Trianna mocked. "However, I suspect that your purpose is different."

Despite his difficult position, Murtagh continued to resist, resulting in many more blows. Finally, someone pressed the blade of a dagger to his throat, effectively neutralizing him. The soldiers' curses and the commotion must have been heard outside, as a group of dwarves entered the room.

"In the name of our king under the mountain, Hrothgar, stop immediately!" commanded one of them. His position seemed to hold significant authority within the dwarven army, as the Varden guards promptly obeyed. The dwarf, though much shorter than their officer, turned to the man with an angry expression. "I demand to know immediately what this man has done to deserve such treatment. Why are you beating him?"

The witch Trianna took it upon herself to explain. "This young man claims that he wants to join the Varden, Knurla Orik. But when the time came for his mind to be examined, according to all our fair rules, he refused."

The dwarf, whom the witch called Orik, turned to the soldiers. "Release him!"

His voice rang with authority, so none of them dared to disobey. They released Murtagh but did not move away, maintaining their threatening circle around him with weapons drawn. Murtagh stood up straight and adjusted his clothes, trying to regain his former proud appearance. The dagger had left a bloody mark on the side of his neck.

The dwarf stood before him, looking him sternly in the eyes. "When you came here to join the Varden, did you not know the law?" His voice was deep and as stern as his gaze.

Murtagh took a deep breath. "I want to see Ajihad," he repeated. "He..."

"He claims that Ajihad knows him," Trianna interrupted, "and that he will vouch for him to spare him from the examination. However, we suspect he means us harm. It is better for the Twin magicians to examine him. They will forcefully extract the whole truth from him."

Orik cast a sidelong glance at the woman. Her mention of the Twin magicians seemed to displease him. "This young man arrived yesterday with the merchant caravan," he said. "He belongs to their guards. My men have taken charge of their protection. You know that our king despises violence; Ajihad does too. If this man refuses to be examined, none of us have the right to subject him to such an ordeal."

Trianna gave the dwarf an angry look. Nevertheless, she did not argue. "In that case," she ordered her men, "return him to the guards' room. He will leave with them again when the merchants are ready to depart."

Two of the Varden seized his arms again, ready to lead Murtagh back to the room where Gietwald and his men were staying. "These are our rules, young man," the captain murmured calmly. "When you are ready to be examined, come back to us."

"Let me see Ajihad!" Murtagh shouted, trying to break free from the guards' grip. "Why do you refuse to bring me before him?"

"I told you, that…"

Trianna's angry voice was interrupted once again by the dwarf, who, though ready to leave the room, turned back inside. "If this man is so eager to see Ajihad, I will arrange the meeting myself," he suggested.

The woman turned angrily towards him. "Be careful, knurla," she warned, "he may be an assassin sent by the Empire."

Murtagh prepared to protest, but the dwarf cut him off sharply. "I and my men will watch over him," he said. "If the leader of the Varden does not agree to meet him, I will return him to his comrades' room to leave with them again. He will not be allowed to harm anyone. But to forcibly search his mind... that is out of the question."

"If you are taking responsibility, then we are unnecessary," Trianna said coldly, giving Murtagh a murderous look. She motioned to the Varden guards and left.

The young man was left alone with the dwarves. "My name is Murtagh, son of Tornac," he said, pressing his sleeve to his neck to stop the blood flowing from the knife cut.

"And I am Orik, son of Thrifk, of the Dûrgrimst Ingeitum." The dwarf looked at him intently. "Did they hurt you?"

"It's nothing," Murtagh replied. The dwarf barely reached his shoulder but looked sturdy, with a thick and well-braided brown beard. He was dressed in a metal breastplate and a helmet on which a hammer, surrounded by twelve stars, was carved. At his waist, secured by a leather belt, he carried an axe with a well-sharpened edge.

The dwarves positioned Murtagh between them, and Orik walked beside him down the corridor. When they reached an inner gate, Orik removed the scarf wrapped around his neck that shielded his skin from the metal of his breastplate. "I will take you to Ajihad," he said, "and if he hears your name and agrees to see you, then I will surely bring you before him. However, there is one condition."

Murtagh, feeling disgruntled, allowed his eyes to be blindfolded and promised not to try to remove the blindfold or look around.

"It is for your own good, Murtagh, son of Tornac," the dwarf added seriously. "If you do not keep your word, no one and nothing will prevent the examination of your mind. Not only the Varden, but also my king, will demand that the information be erased from your mind before you are sent away."

Orik took him by the arm and guided him through the gate leading to the city of eternal twilight, without allowing him to see its treasures.

"The journey will take hours," the dwarf said. "Prepare yourself!"

.*.*.*.

"I warned you, lad! The Varden do not trust anyone easily. I don't know why you decided to stay with them and not return with the caravan to Surda, nor why you were so optimistic that you could avoid the mind examination. Rebels are suspicious of everyone. Perhaps it's the dwarves' fault for instilling such ideas in them—what can one expect from creatures that live in isolation and despise the light of day? Or maybe the magicians who work with them trying to emphasize their worth. For them, examining others' minds has almost become second nature.

It might also be the power struggles, which, from what I've heard, are rampant among them. But if you weren't ready to let them examine your mind—good heavens, what a vile act—you shouldn't have suggested they keep you at all. And what's the result? Just to endure all this humiliation and suffering?"

The men of the caravan had learned about the incident with the Varden guards in the presence of the witch. Gietwald did not take kindly to the mistreatment of his guard. "You should have realized how unpleasant the prospect of someone examining your mind would be and that you wouldn't manage to dissuade them. So, don't say I didn't warn you."

"A large pack of Shrrg…" Murtagh wished to himself. "Or maybe better yet, a giant Nagra… many Nagras together, protecting their young. A pirate raid later…" Anything to divert Gietwald's attention away from him. From the first hour of their journey after leaving Farthen Dûr, the leader of the caravan guards walked beside him, grumbling. Although he had silently accepted the news that Murtagh chose to remain with the Varden when they arrived, he now seemed to make up for it by criticizing Murtagh's complete failure.

"Your father was a good man," Gietwald continued relentlessly. "He never got involved in the strange affairs between the Varden and the Empire, even though he knew their leader. He always minded his own business and took care of home. If you ask me, he did the right thing."

"A rockslide… an uncontrolled avalanche rolling down the slope… or even… the strong mountain wind that would lay low animals and men on the mountain path." Murtagh tried not to listen. His heart was already heavy with failure, and his mind was clouded. He wanted to tell Gietwald to leave him alone. He needed to think about what to do next. All his plans were changing, and he felt unable to react. But the man kept talking, advising him. He was determined to change Murtagh's mind.

Murtagh sighed deeply, his thoughts on the meeting with the leader of the Varden. The dwarf Orik had kept his promise. He and his men led Murtagh to Tronjheim through the shortest tunnels. Along the way, Orik explained in detail the strict rules set by the dwarves and the Varden, which applied to all visitors. No one had ever been exempt from these laws.

Ajihad received him for a brief conversation. They sat alone in an office, with Orik and his guard waiting outside the doors. The leader of the Varden showed genuine interest in Tornac's health and seemed truly saddened upon learning of his recent death. He persistently asked Murtagh about events from his childhood, things he had long tried to forget. Ajihad asked him to talk about his place of origin, especially about his mother. Murtagh claimed that she had died when he was still a baby; he didn't remember her at all. Tornac, his father, had always avoided talking about her, as well as their place of origin.

Ajihad thanked him politely but coldly for his willingness to join the Varden. He told Murtagh that he greatly valued him as a capable swordsman and likely a worthy warrior. However, the rules set by the Varden applied to everyone without exception. Would Tornac's son willingly submit to having his mind examined by the Twins? When Murtagh once again refused, he was obliged to follow Orik back to the gates, where he found the caravan ready to depart for Surda.

The young man's disappointment was immense. Not only was he humiliated by having to travel the entire distance blindfolded, not only did he bear bruises and wounds from those he once considered allies, but he also faced the rejection of their leader to his offer. The worst part? He was leaving Farthen Dûr without having met Nasuada.

"Your father left behind a ready-made job and home. Anyone in your position would have looked after it. Not running and hiding in the dark tunnels of Farthen Dûr with the rebels," Gietwald continued his incessant tirade, eager to say more. "If you ask me, the fencing school will offer you a secure future and plenty of money. Your father was a famous teacher, and as far as I know, you have no less skill than he did."

Exactly! That's how it was! In the darkness of his thoughts, Murtagh couldn't help but agree with Gietwald. The fencing school would provide him with enough income to pay the best teacher at Aberon Palace to teach him how to protect his mind from the intrusion of magicians.

That's what he would do as soon as he returned to Surda. He would reopen the fencing school. What he earned would be spent on those lessons. Murtagh had never had any trouble learning; he had always managed to absorb whatever interested him with great ease in a short time. So, he would do the same now!

In a few months, he would be more capable of safeguarding his great secret, leaving only the information he chose for the magicians to know. Then, he would present himself again before Ajihad and the Varden, ready to join them.

Ready to meet Nasuada again!