Why he was sent here, to Belatona of all places, Murtagh did not know. It gnawed at him, not knowing Galbatorix's plans, but in the century of indentured servitude he was forced to endure, he never truly had known what the mad king was thinking. He held on tight to Thorn's saddle as they winged their way towards the city, and he could still feel the ache in his bones from his last fight with his brother.
Eragon…
His brother's return was unexpected, and something inside Murtagh rejoiced that of all the Riders who survived, it was Eragon. Still, each time he saw Eragon, Murtagh felt that same anger rising inside of him. That Eragon was spared the fate of being a slave felt to Murtagh as though someone had stabbed him in the heart. They had been close once, long before, though the memories were clouded with the misery that had become his life.
Misery.
His eyes flicked down to his father's sword, forced upon him by Galbatorix. After Brom had slayed Morzan, Murtagh managed to recover his father's sword from his keep, and the mad king thought it poetic that he wielded his father's blade. His own was lost to time, in the one battle Murtagh had fought in during the War. That he sided with the Riders was not something Galbatorix forgot, and it was only Morzan's word that sparred his life. Why his bastard of a father begged Galbatorix for Murtagh to be spared was not something Murtagh cared to think of. All he knew was that he was forced to do Galbatorix's bidding, unable to escape.
Why did we side with the Riders again? thought to himself. He drew the cloak around him tight, fighting off the chill of the air. Ah, right. Because it was expected of us. The Riders were corrupt, that much I knew even back then… But the war.
That war was terrible. Murtagh shivered. The memories of his dead companions floated passed him, their cries ringing in his ears. He shook off the darkness that threatened to consume him, his hands tightening on the cloak. Once, long ago, he drew a strange sort of pleasure at the power Galbatorix gave him, able to do anything he wished. Now, though, he longed for the simplest of things. Freedom to do as he and Thorn wished, to go wherever they wanted. But he knew the truth; he would never be free.
Your thoughts are as dark as always, Thorn snorted, his wings beating a steady drum against the cold air. Why are you so consumed in the past?
Because we cannot escape it, Murtagh retorted. No matter what we do.
Thorn was silent for a moment, before a growl erupted from his throat. The past holds onto only what we let it, Murtagh.
How can you say that, given what we are? We are slaves, in name and body. Murtagh scowled, no matter what we do, we cannot escape that.
Thorn was silent for a while, and it was only the steady thrum of his wings that pierced the veil between them.
Yes, we can. Thorn's voice came after a while, pushing past the dark thoughts that started to intrude in Murtagh's mind. You know as well as I that it's possible to change one's name. We need only try.
Murtagh sighed. Yes, I know how true names work. But saying it is one thing, doing so it another.
And yet, Thorn argued, you never told Galbatorix. For all the Black Kings knowledge, he seems to be lacking severely in the very basic things we were taught.
Galbatorix's power does not stem from his knowledge, Murtagh argued, but from his ability to dominate others. His mind is unlike any I have ever felt before…
That much is true, Thorn growled. He may know our true names, and even sworn us to do his bidding, but he can never truly control the fire in our bellies. Not unless we let him.
Murtagh said nothing, knowing how Thorn felt about this. Thorn hated Galbatorix with a passion, and it was only because of Murtagh that Thorn even gave up his name.
When Murtagh let the silence between them build, Thorn sighed, his head twisting slightly in the air to peer at Murtagh with a ruby eye. Just promise me you will think on it.
Murtagh scowled and looked away, though he said, I promise.
Good. Thorn moved his head back forward, and started his descent. They were over the city of Belatona now, able to see the clearing in front of keep. Soldiers moved about, preparing for their arrival, and even this far away Murtagh could sense their fear. Tell me again what we are doing here, Thorn said.
Galbatorix commanded us to the city to meet with the Brotherhood, and to aid them in their efforts, Murtagh recited, his voice low even to himself. This is our punishment for failing to capture Eragon and Saphira, and for the green egg hatching. Though I do not know how that is our fault.
You already received your punishment, Thorn spat. Why must we aid the vile practices of the Brotherhood? Nothing good can come of their magic, and the sooner we are done the better.
Murtagh patted Thorn's side. Let us get this over with, then. Though I am glad to be away from Urû'baen for now.
As am I.
Thorn dived, his wings tucked in close to his body, and Murtagh closed his eyes as the wind rushed quickly over his face. He could feel his hair being swept back from the speed, and he held his hands out as though he could grab the wind itself. He felt the warning from Thorn as they descended, so he quickly reached out and grabbed the large spike in front of him as Thorn flared out his wings.
Horses cried out in fear, rising onto their hind legs as Thorn landed on the stone plaza. The red dragon bent his large legs to absorb the force, tucking his wings in and sweeping his ruby eyes across the grounds. Soldiers moved forward to greet them, calling out to him, but Murtagh paid them no mind as he undid the straps on his legs.
Hopping down from Thorn's back, Murtagh cursed as a white-hot flash of pain erupted in his knees. He cursed his brother and his magic, as well as Galbatorix in his refusal to heal him completely. Turning away from the soldiers, Murtagh began to undo one of the bags on Thorn's saddle, pausing as his hands trailed over one of the empty bags. Not so long ago, they had been filled with Eldunarí, their magic his own to use. Galbatorix had stripped them from him after his failure. The King had decreed that Murtagh would only receive the Eldunarí back before his next battle with Eragon, believing the lack of magical power to be a severe punishment to him.
It had been a long time since he had been without the Eldunarí, and it left Murtagh feeling exposed. A scowl reappeared on his face as he unstrapped his bag, turning to face the soldier who had called out to him.
The soldier was older, his face leathered, and Murtagh could begin to see how the slow march of time began to wear on the man. The soldier saluted Murtagh, his hand rising to his chest, but Murtagh did not return the gesture. "M 'lord, we welcome you to Belatona. I am General Taylor, head of Lord Bradburn's War Council. Lord Bradburn regrets that he could not greet you in person, but he has been busy preparing our defenses against the traitorous Varden. If you will, he will meet with you in his Throne room when he returns, as he is sure you wish to freshen yourself after such a journey."
Murtagh waved away at the General. "Take me to my room."
The General, if he was offended by Murtagh's impoliteness in not returning the greeting did not say, only saluting again. "Your dragon may wait inside the hall, M 'lord. Our servants have prepared fresh meat for it."
Thorn snorted, a plume of smoke rising. At least these people offer food.
"Careful," Murtagh warned, "of how you speak of Thorn, General. The last fool who offended him ended up losing his tongue."
"Of course, M 'lord," the general bowed. "My apologies. If you will?"
General Taylor turned and ordered his soldiers to move out, and Murtagh watched as the group of Empire soldiers surrounded both Murtagh and the General. Many glanced uneasily at Thorn, who growled at any who peered too long. General Taylor led them inside the keep doors, which were large enough to fit Thorn, leading them down the long hallway towards the open hall before the Throne room.
Ahead, two servants were standing next to a large pile of meat in the hall, and from the steam gently rising Murtagh knew that it was fresh. They must have just butchered the animal, though Murtagh did not tell them it was unnecessary. Thorn snorted at the sight, striding ahead past the soldiers, who quickly flattened themselves against the wall to make way for the dragon.
Thorn peered at the meat, sniffing it lightly, and Murtagh saw how the two servants flinched when the red dragon lunged out, snapping up a large piece. Blood poured out of the meat as Thorn chewed, and Murtagh asked him, You alright here?
I'll be fine. Go.
Murtagh nodded, turning to General Taylor. "General."
Taylor bowed, gesturing down one of the many hallways. "This way, M' lord."
The contingent of soldiers broke in half, and Murtagh heard some of them moving to stay in the hall with Thorn. The others followed behind Murtagh, though they kept a fair distance away from him. General Taylor led him down one hallway then another, each too small for Thorn to fit, only to stop at a nondescript wooden door. "Here you are, Rider. A servant will be with you shortly. Lord Bradburn shall return atop the next hour, and will eagerly await you when you are ready."
Murtagh waved off the man, pushing the door open even as all the soldiers saluted him. The General moved away, though Murtagh could hear the man muttering to himself under his breath. He did not catch the words, and Murtagh frowned as he entered the room. His hearing had been augmented by magic to match even the best elven ears, but he was unable to understand the words the man had spoken. Maybe Galbatorix needs to redo the enchantments, Murtagh thought, it's been nearly a century since he first did them, after all.
Murtagh shivered. I'd rather not ask him now. Maybe after we finish here and return. Might be in a better mood if we end up being able to help these damned Brotherhood bastards.
Letting out a sigh, Murtagh placed his bag down on the floor besides the bed. A hot bath was needed, Murtagh decided. He would take as long as he felt; these Lords thought that they could command him to do their bidding, but they all cowered in fear just the same when they stood in his presence.
I hate what he has done to me.
Nearly two hours later, Murtagh strode from his room into the hall Thorn was resting in. Soldiers awaited him there, though none of them dared to speak to him. He knew he was late, but Murtagh didn't care.
How was the meal? Murtagh asked, reaching out to rub a hand over Thorn's scales. The dragon lazed on his side, his head resting on the cold stone floor, facing towards the massive throne doors ahead.
Descent. I may go hunt later. Thorn licked his lips, and Murtagh could still smell the blood on his teeth. Cattle do not taste as good as a fresh kill.
That may have to wait until we are done here. We swore to help, and you know how binding Galbatorix's orders are.
Hmm.
Murtagh smiled. Thorn was the only one who could make him feel any sense of joy, and he would do anything to protect his dragon.
Walking towards the two guards that stood in front of the large doors, Murtagh beckoned them to open them. The soldiers complied, eyes downcast, muttering "M' lord," as they pushed open the grand entrance.
Lord Bradburn was talking to General Taylor, and was seated upon his throne, stooped low in the chair. They both paused their discussion as Murtagh entered the hall, and for a moment Murtagh saw a flash of frustration on the Lord's face before it was smoothed over. "Ah, Lord Murtagh, right hand of Galbatorix. Welcome to my fine city."
"Lord Bradburn," Murtagh said, his tone low.
The lord stood from his throne and walked down the few steps towards Murtagh, waving the general away. "How have you found your room, Morzanson? I hope it is to your liking."
The use of his last name sent a fissure of cold up Murtagh's spine, but he did not let it show on his face. "Fine enough."
"I am heartened to hear that," Lord Bradburn bowed lightly. Technically speaking, Murtagh was of higher status inside Galbatorix's Empire, though at times he could be requested to take care of something for the Lords that ruled inside Alagaësia. None of them dared to offend him directly, and he was used to their use of words to slight him. Still, all he had to do was threaten one of them and they would all kneel before him.
"Where you told why I am here?" Murtagh questioned.
"Only what his Majesty has deemed necessary to tell me," Lord Bradburn said. "I know that you will aid the Brotherhood, and as such I have seen fit to summon Brother Keres."
Him? Damn Galbatorix and this vile mess.
Lord Bradburn waved at a servant, who scurried out quickly down one of the halls leading from the throne room. Bradburn lingered on the steps before Murtagh, and the Lord failed each time to meet Murtagh eyes. Even with his newly reduced hearing, Murtagh could tell that the soldiers were uneasy in his presence, for each shifted lightly in the stance and kept a ready hand near their weapons. If they so much as touched them, Murtagh would have…
Murtagh paused. What? What would I do?
He hated his life, more than anything, though he hated more the monster it turned him into. Eragon would hate the man he had become.
Eragon isn't here, Murtagh said to himself, and what does his opinion matter anyway? He fled Alagaësia. He has no right to judge me.
His thoughts were broken when the servant returned, seemingly more frightened then when he left. A dark figure strode out slowly behind, emerging from the hallway wrapped in darkness. He wore the standard blood red robes of his Brotherhood, with his black-as-night hood high over his head. The only thing that gave away his position inside the Brotherhood was the golden chain adorning his chest, each rung carved with a word of the ancient language. The inscription was too small for Murtagh to see, though he knew what they already said. Brother Keres was the leader of their order, an enigmatic figure that Murtagh had only ever heard rumors of. Not that he particularly cared about the group, but even he heard from Galbatorix about their efforts from time to time.
"Brother Keres," Lord Bradburn began when Brother Keres stopped next to the lord, and Murtagh saw the slight fear in the lord's features, "I summoned you here to meet with the Red Rider, as His Majesty has decreed."
"Of course," Brother Keres said, his words as washing over Murtagh like silk. "Tis an honor to meet such a Rider as yourself, Murtagh Morzanson."
Murtagh scowled. "I am here to assist you in your efforts, of which I know little about."
He could not see Keres's face, shrouded as it was beneath his hood, but he had a feeling the man was smiling. "Your aid will not go unnoticed. Du Vættr Bani thanks King Galbatorix's Rider in our quest."
Du Vættr Bani, which translated loosely as The Bane of Spirits, was known for their research into Shades. On a few occasions over the last century, Murtagh had encountered one of the Brotherhood -as they were known to the residents of the Empire- but never had they directly approached him. "What exactly do you wish of me? I cannot be kept from the war for too long, and the King expects results from your little group."
"We want what we have always wanted, since our group was founded over two hundred years ago." Keres said, his hands folded in front of his robes. "The King knows this, and has seen fit to grant us our request for your aid. If we succeed, then this pitiful war with the Varden will be over quickly."
"That's not an answer," Murtagh growled. "But fine. Let us get this over with."
Brother Keres shook his head. "I'm afraid that you arrived earlier than we expected, Rider. If you will, I bid that tomorrow at sunrise you meet us. I will have word sent of our location immediately, but you must understand my reluctance to utter it out loud."
Murtagh's lips twitched in annoyance, and he didn't bother smoothing over the frustration on his face. He could feel the oath compelling him, tugging at his very being. "Very well. I will be there tomorrow."
"Good," Brother Keres took a step backwards, pausing as though struck by a sudden thought. "Oh, if you would, I bid that you bring that dragon of yours. His aid will be required, I'm afraid."
Thorn? What could Thorn have to do with this?
Murtagh inclined his head, watching as Brother Keres bowed to Lord Bradburn before leaving the throne room. When the robed man was gone, Lord Bradburn let out a long sigh. "I do not mean to question His Majesty, but that group of magicians…"
"For once, Lord Bradburn," Murtagh grunted, "We agree on something."
A servant had arrived in the early morning before the sun rose, a simple piece of paper the only thing offered. Murtagh grunted at the young man, watching as the servant scurried away, fear dripping from him. On the parchment read:
Grain-house # 5 off the Main Square
-Brother Keres
A grain-house? What use could a grain-house be to a group such as the Brotherhood? Murtagh scowled, strapping Zar'roc to his waist as he left his room. He pulled his cloak around tighter, moving towards the hallway Thorn had stayed in. A small group of soldiers stood outside the hall, and Murtagh saw Thorn lying about, using one of his talons to scratch a gouge in the stone floor.
Murtagh raised an eyebrow at Thorn, who merely huffed, What? I was bored.
Murtagh chuckled, peering at the deep gouge. That's going to drive the Lord crazy, you know. Its nearly the length of my arm!
Thorn rumbled, and Murtagh heard the soldiers outside gasp in fright, that, I believe they say, is the point.
Murtagh shook his head in exasperation, patting Thorn's snout as he walked up to him. Let us go. This Brotherhood requires us at dawn for some unfathomable reason.
You, up before dawn? Thorn mocked, moving to stand. Thorn stretched as much as he could in the small space given to him, and Murtagh admired the way the red light of the torches danced across his red scales. How did they talk you into it?
Murtagh scowled, turning away from Thorn, and moving towards the door. They didn't talk me into it. It's that damned oath we gave. Galbatorix worded it so that we must do their leaders bidding absolutely.
Don't tell them that, then. Thorn growled. Giving this group control over our actions is not something I find I like.
Neither do I, though I still don't understand why Galbatorix made us swear it.
Who knows what the mad King is thinking these days?
They had reached the castle entrance, and Murtagh motioned for the guards to open the Portcullis for them. Soldiers rushed about to open it, and Murtagh casted a spell to light his way. A small red werelight floated above his shoulder, and Murtagh grunted as the magic pulled at him.
Something wrong?
No, Murtagh growled, just… Not used to casting magic without the Eldunarí.
As small a spell as that and you complain? Thorn snorted. You have grown too used to the power the dragons have. Stand on your own two feet for once.
I know you never liked using their strength, and neither did I. But you must admit we would have lost to Eragon if we did not have their aid.
They did not aid us, Thorn growled, they do not do anything, because Galbatorix has broken their minds. And we did lose to Eragon in case you forgot.
Murtagh scowled. I don't understand how he was so strong. Both times. It's like he has…
His own Eldunarí?
Yes, Murtagh said. The gate was fully opened, and Murtagh led Thorn down the castle street towards the main square. There were few people about this early in the morning, though each of them stopped to bow to him as they passed, their fear evident on their features.
Then perhaps he does.
How? Galbatorix took all of them during the war. No dragon was able to escape him or the Forsworn.
Eragon and Saphira left Alagaësia before the War even started. What's to say that he did not already have one with him?
Murtagh paused, and Thorn's large foreleg bumped into him from behind. He barely managed to right himself before continuing down the street. It could be possible. But how did he get stronger at the battle in the Burning Plains? The first time we had three Eldunarí, and he still managed to force us into a stalemate. Galbatorix gave us another Eldunarí for the battle, and even that was not enough.
Thorn was silent as they continued down the road, his steps loud as his talons clinked on the stone pathway. They were nearing the Main Square, and Murtagh could see a few of the city's residents out completing their morning routines. Eragon fights because he believes in something, and he will die to accomplish that.
So?
You fight because you are forced to. Thorn argued. If it was up to you, would you fight your brother?
No! Surely you know that.
I do. But Eragon fights for his life every day. He fights for what he has lost, and that gives him strength.
So, you're saying he's stronger than I am.
You're not listening, Thorn growled, he's stronger because he has something to believe in. You do not. Find your belief, Murtagh, and you will be stronger for it.
I do not believe in any gods, Murtagh said quietly, not anymore.
You know what I meant.
Murtagh grunted. He led Thorn down one of the streets from the Main Square, watching as the citizens of the city scurried away from Thorn's presence. Though he had lived under the Empire for nearly a century now, he had forgotten that other cities were not as used to the presence of a dragon as Urû'baen was. There, at least, Thorn could laze about on the city roof tops, and the wall around the city, and hardly cause a stir.
Walking down the street, Murtagh peered at the various buildings they passed. As they ventured further from the Main Square, Murtagh began to see signs of the slum arising. Each building began to become more decrepit as they continued, and he could see signs on the stone of a long since fought battle.
Glancing around, Murtagh realized that none of the buildings were marked, and scowled. A lone man stood on the stoops of one of the buildings, and Murtagh called out to him. "You there!"
The man startled at his call, backing away slowly, and bowing as he went. "I want no trouble, M' Lord, please."
Murtagh's scowl deepened. "Tell me where I can find the Grain-house, and there will be no trouble."
"The Grain-house, sire?" The man said. "Tis no Grain-house on this road. Not any longer."
Murtagh sighed. He ran his hand through his hair, only to growl in frustration when he realized he copied Eragon's familiar mannerism. "Then where is the old Grain-house?"
The man pointed down three buildings, his finger shaking as he said, "There, sire. Tis nothing but burned planks and ash now, but the Grain-house is there."
"Good man," Murtagh called out, patting Thorn's scaled leg. "Let's go," he said, his voice dropping.
He heard from behind the man's relieved sigh. Shaking his head, Murtagh peered at the building the man had pointed out. It was indeed a shell of a building, its walls scorched by fire long ago. How it still was standing was a mystery to Murtagh, especially since from what he could see was a large hole in the roof.
Thorn stopped and sniffed at the building, his tongue dancing out to taste the air. This build was burned by dragon's fire.
Murtagh blinked in surprise. What? Was it during the war?
I don't think so, Thorn said. It smells too old. But the scent is familiar.
Do you know who did it?
No.
Murtagh sighed. Peering around to the side, he found the large barn-like doors used to load the store house firmly shut. He walked briskly up to the door, and knocked loudly on it. A first there was no answer, but when he made to knock again the door creaked open a hair. A young man stood in the shadow of the door, his features casted red by Murtagh's werelight.
"M' lord," The young man said, and Murtagh could see his eyes widen in surprise. Murtagh glanced down at the man's garbs; the man was wearing the standard red robe of the Brotherhood, though there was no chain attached anywhere for him to see. The man, no older than a boy, must have been an acolyte of some type, though Murtagh didn't care to learn if his suspicions where true.
"I was told to meet Keres here," Murtagh forced out, his words half compelled by the oath he swore.
"Of course, sir," The acolyte glanced behind him before opening the doors. Murtagh stepped through, pushing past the young man as he struggled to open them enough for Thorn. Luckily, the building was quite large, and after a few moments Thorn was able to squeeze his body through the doors.
Getting in is one thing, Thorn growled, getting out is going to be a pain.
We will deal with that when we are done here.
Easy for you to say.
Murtagh chuckled under his breath. The acolyte closed the door behind them and hurried to the front, calling out as he ran, "They are here, Brother Keres!"
"Have them come forward," the voice of Keres echoed around Murtagh, and he glanced around searching for the man. "I will be with you in a moment, Murtagh. I am preparing everything as we speak."
The inside of the storeroom was barren, to say the least. All around he could see the remnants of a battle, though most of it had been pushed long ago to the sides. The only light available to see came from the massive hole in the ceiling. Murtagh eyed it as he walked forward, pointing it out to Thorn as they went.
Thorn swung his head upwards to peer at it, the ceiling some twenty feet above his own head. That hole is big enough to fit a small dragon, Thorn murmured.
Hmm. This building is huge. Why would you need a grain-house this large?
I do not know. Perhaps before this served a different purpose?
Maybe, but it doesn't really matter.
Murtagh stopped in the center of the building, and he watched as the acolyte scurried away from him. The man ran to one of the few doors around and held it open, though no one came through. All Murtagh could see was darkness inside, though he guessed from the size of the building that the room was quite small.
"Keres," Murtagh called out, "why exactly are we meeting here?"
A shadow moved in the open doorway and Keres stepped out, his face no longer covered by his hood. The man was old, with gray hair speckling his head. His face was clean shaven, and from the paleness of his skin Murtagh could see that he was not one for basking in the sun. Keres smiled at Murtagh, and he felt a shiver run down his spine. "Do you know the history of this place?"
Keres gestured around them, pointing to the scorch marks and ash that were apparent. Murtagh cast his eyes around, pausing for a moment as he saw newly install support beams, the fresh wood standing out strongly against the old, charred ones. That must be why the building hasn't collapsed yet.
"No." Murtagh answered eventually, his weight onto his back foot. His hand came up to hover over Zar'roc, but he did not yet draw his father's blade.
"This is hallowed ground for Du Vættr Bani, you must understand. It was here that our order was founded, after the brilliant magician Karth attempted to do the impossible." Keres stopped a few feet in front of Murtagh, his hands spread wide. "The few surviving of that fateful night devoted themselves to his work, and ever since then we have tried to recreate his experiments."
Murtagh glanced around again, and he could feel his frustration growing. Ultimately, however, his curiosity won out. "What night?"
"Do you not know the stories? It was, after all, your own Riders who attempted to quell the truth of this place." When Murtagh said nothing, Keres shook his head as though disappointed. "What happened in Belatona over two hundred years ago? Surely you know this."
Murtagh frowned. "In Belatona? Eragon killed a Shade. And possibly a dragon…" The words fell away as he glanced around at the burned husked of the building. He hadn't noticed it before, but now that he mentioned it, he could see the claw marks that adorned some of the surviving wooden struts on the walls.
Thorn growled lowly, his lips curling. Why did he bring us to this place? To show us were the hatchling perished?
"Yes, indeed. You do know some of it, then." Keres snapped his fingers and Murtagh watched as robed figures streamed out of the doorway. They moved quickly into rank behind Keres, each perfectly in line with the ones around them.
Murtagh scowled. "Get on with it."
"As you wish," Keres said. "Here, over two centuries ago, the magician Karth attempted to do something that shook the very foundation of magic. His experiment drew fear from the Riders, and he was ultimately killed that night by Eragon. But before his death, he finally managed to complete that which he had set out to do."
Keres paused in his tale, and Murtagh frowned.
Why is he drawing this out? Murtagh asked Thorn.
I do not know. Stay on guard.
Murtagh all but growled at the man, "What did he do?"
Keres smiled; his lips stretched thin on his pale face. "Karth created a Shade."
Murtagh laughed, "A Shade? That's it? Sorcerers have known how to do that for centuries."
"You miss understand me," Keres said, shaking his head. A manic glint appeared in his eyes, and Murtagh stopped his laughter. "He created a Shade so destructive, so powerful, that it soaked this very ground with its magic. That Eragon killed the Shade is perhaps the greatest crime he ever committed."
Keres sighed and clasped his hands together, "I would have preferred to use his dragon for this, but yours will have to do."
It was like the world slowed down for Murtagh in that moment. The words Keres spoke flowed around his mind, joining together with what he already knew about the Shade of Belatona. A terrible thought occurred to Murtagh in that moment, and he reached down to draw Zar'roc from his side.
"Stop," Keres commanded, and Murtagh felt his whole-body freeze. He could see from the corner of his eye that Thorn had frozen as well, his neck coiled back as though he was about to strike.
Murtagh struggled, but the only thing he could move was his mouth. "What are you planning to do with Thorn?"
Thorn growled as he spoke, and he could see many of the robed figures cower behind Keres.
"Be at ease," Keres said to them, his hands held up. "They cannot move." Keres made a gesture at them that Murtagh couldn't see and said, "Go, we do not have much time."
The robe figures moved around them in the little space that was not occupied by Thorn, and Murtagh watched as they formed a circle surrounding the two of them.
"Tell me what your plan is, or I will kill you were you stand," Murtagh threatened. The words of his oath had only halted him momentarily, though he remained still.
Keres paid them no mind, his eyes watching the robed men for a moment before saying, "Begin."
The men began chanting in the ancient language, their words perfectly in sync with one another. As the language of the elves began to rise, Murtagh felt a stab of fear.
Keres finally turned to Murtagh with his arms spread wide. "Galbatorix has offered Thorn unto us for this, and we graciously accepted his gift. Thorn will be reborn into the perfect Shade, and His Majesty will find no better creature to destroy the Varden with."
Murtagh raised the hand not gripping Zar'roc and screamed, "Jierda!"
The magic rushed out before him, racing towards Keres, only to smash into a barrier. The magic flared around him, and for a moment Murtagh was able to make out the shape of the dome surround them. Runes, carved into the dirt flared as the magic of the barrier diminished from his attack, but Murtagh could still sense some remaining power inside them.
How did we not notice them before?
As the barrier faded from sight, Murtagh drew Zar'roc from his sheathe, charging forward. At the same time, Thorn opened his mouth, a torrent of fire rushing to the side towards the men surrounding them.
"Cease your attempts to attack," Keres commanded.
Once more Murtagh froze, and he yelled out as his body refused to respond to him. "I will kill you!"
Thorn's jaws snapped shut, the fire dying quickly even as it washed over the barrier.
"You will do no such thing," Keres said loudly above the chanting. "The King has worded his oath perfectly, it seems. Your magic may be able to breach our barrier, but you will not make any attempt to do so."
Murtagh glared at the man. And took a few steps backwards to Thorn. Any attempt to raise his hand against the barrier would prove useless with Keres's words, and Murtagh could feel the oath pressing against him, the words searing their way into his mind.
Cowards. Come and face me and I will watch you all burn, Thorn growled.
Murtagh placed a hand on Thorn's side, his hand still holding Zar'roc. We need to think about how we can escape.
Thorn growled again; his teeth barred to the men surrounding them. They continued their chant, and Murtagh could feel the stirring of magic around him. Why would Galbatorix do this?
Murtagh struck Thorn's side with his fist. Thorn barely even noticed, his ruby eyes tracking the robed men around them, and Murtagh's hand throbbed in pain. We don't have time to think about that. Our oath requires us to do as Keres said. How do we get around it?
Thorn stopped glaring at the men, his head swinging around to meet Murtagh. We could…
Thorn cried out, stumbling as though he were struck. The pain reverberated through their bond, and Murtagh stumbled from the brief spike of pain that went searing into his head.
"Thorn!" Murtagh yelled, watching as the red dragon shook his head. Murtagh rubbed Thorn's scales, as sense of worry filling him.
I'm alright. Thorn blinked a ruby eye at him, I do not know what that was, but it seems to have passed. I was only going to say…
Another cry of pain was torn from Thorn suddenly, and Murtagh jumped backwards as Thorn collapsed down to his side, narrowly avoiding being crushed by the dragon's immense weight.
"Thorn! Thorn! Are you alright? Say something!" Murtagh rushed forward, Zar'roc clattering against the stone floor as he went. Murtagh placed his hands on top of Thorn's head, and began murmuring lightly in the ancient language. His own head pounded harshly, and Murtagh fought to ignore the feeling.
He cast spell after spell on Thorn, searching for anything that was physically wrong with him. When his search turned up empty, Murtagh reached out to feel the magic flowing around them.
The magic was swirling around the dragon, twisting faster with each word the men surrounding them muttered. He traced the magic that flowed towards Thorn back to its source, through the men surround them, and with horror Murtagh realized what they were intending.
"Thorn! Thorn!" Murtagh cried out. He pushed against the dragon's mind with his own.
After a moment that felt like an eternity, Thorn finally opened his ruby eyes. Thorn blinked at him, keening low in his throat, and Murtagh felt his anger grow.
"They want to make you into a Shade!" Murtagh cried.
He sensed panic in Thorn's mind for moment, and then a deep sense of resolved formed, before Murtagh was force out. Thorn closed off his mind completely from Murtagh, and Murtagh felt at once the loss of connection between them. "No! Don't shut me out! Thorn!"
A spike of pain shot through Murtagh's mind, though it was less in its intensity compared to the previous one. When Thorn keened louder and flinched heavily, Murtagh knew that it was worse for him this time.
"You bastards!" Murtagh screamed. He turned his head towards the edge of the barrier, were Keres stood watching them. "Stop this or I swear I will make every last day of your life a living hell."
Keres said nothing, and even the man's face was a blank slate. Anger welled inside Murtagh, the emotion pushing back against the pain that emanated from Thorn.
Murtagh turned back to Thorn and began whispering spells again, his mind moving quickly. If he could stop the magic from taking hold, he might be able to prevent the spirits from entering Thorn. Sweat formed on his brow as he continued to chant, only stumbling as another wave of pain washed over him. His eyes moved around them, searching for anything that could help.
When his sweeping gaze passed over Keres the three orbs of light gave him pause, and Murtagh felt dread fill his stomach. The spirits were here, their lights shifting as they moved erratically over Keres head. Keres spoke, though Murtagh couldn't hear the words. He could see the spirits trembling, as though they were fighting to escape the man's magic. Keres lifted his hand and pointed towards Thorn, and Murtagh watched with despair as a wave of magic pushed the spirits forward.
Murtagh dived in front of Thorn, attempting to shield the dragon with his body, but the spirits passed straight through him. Pain unlike anything he ever experienced coursed over the entirety of his being, and Murtagh collapsed on the floor as his mind began to fade in and out.
Thorn cried out, and Murtagh felt only the pain increase. Even with Thorn's mind cut off from him, he could feel it as the spirits rushed into Thorn, pushing at the dragon's mind with their own. Thorn was fighting them, Murtagh could tell -even barely conscious- as the spirits pushed at the boundaries of their minds, attempting to find some way of fleeing, though they were unable to get through.
Murtagh's vision was fading, and he could only catch flashes of events through the pain.
Thorn stumbling to his feet, his giant body swaying with the effort…
…The continued chanting of the men around them, the words flowing from them steadily even as their bodies wavered…
His vision being filled with red as Thorn placed his head above Murtagh, his throat convulsing…
…A red gem, steaming with heat, being dropped onto his chest…
A flare of red light, a sudden pull of magic and Murtagh knew no more.
He coughed harshly, and the violent outburst brought with it the sense of awareness. At first, he was aware of little more than his face planted firmly in the dirt, but slowly his sense of self returned. The soreness of his body came next, screaming at him in protest as he rolled over onto his back. Then it was the sharp throb of pain in his head, and the bright light of the sun that burned past his eyelids, which only made his head hurt worse. Murtagh swung his arm wide to shield his eyes, and ended up striking a hard rock instead. He cried out in pain, and finally opened his eyes to the world around him.
Blinking against the light, Murtagh dragged himself up, his one arm holding his weight and his other finally able to block the sun's rays. His head ached something fierce, and he felt like there was a part of him missing, though his mind was still too weak to fully grasp what it could be.
Where am I?
When he was finally able to see clearly, Murtagh glanced around. He was in the middle of a grass field, the blades dancing in a soft breeze. The sun was high in the sky, and Murtagh guessed that it was near midday by the looks of it. When he made to stand, the harsh crunch of dead grass drew his attention down to where he had awoken.
The earth was scorched underneath him, spreading out into a circle no bigger than he was. There were no signs of a fire having been lit, and Murtagh quickly patted at his clothing. They were still warm to the touch, with the edges of his tunic and pants singed from whatever had happened.
What did happen here?
When Murtagh twisted around to glance behind him, he felt his heart leap into his chest when he recognized the rock he had struck earlier when he had awoken.
The Eldunarí that laid before him was as red as Thorn's scales, its shine dull as it pulsed weakly. All at once the memories surged to the forefront of his mind, and Murtagh screamed in anguish.
"Thorn!" Murtagh cried out, scrambling towards the Eldunarí. His hands came to rest upon the gem-like surface, and Murtagh's thoughts came to a halt.
Why can't I feel him?
Murtagh delved inside his own mind, searching for the familiar bond that had lived within him ever since Thorn had hatched for him centuries ago. He could feel the panic begin to take hold as he searched, and it was only the weak pulse of the Eldunarí in his hands that assured him that Thorn was still alive. When he finally found the bond, Murtagh nearly collapsed in relief, and he chuckled at himself. The link between their minds was still there, though it felt as weak to his mind's touch. Murtagh pushed against it softly and called out, Thorn?
No response came, and Murtagh pushed harder. Thorn? Can you hear me?
Nothing happened, and Murtagh saw no flicker inside the Eldunarí of Thorn's thoughts. Determination filled Murtagh, and he pushed his mind even harder against the link. A flare of magic welled from within their bond, and Murtagh cried out as a sharp stab of pain forced him back from it. What is going on? Where is this magic coming from?
Now that he was aware of their bond once more, Murtagh could still feel Thorn's mind, though it still was weak. When he edged his mind near the bond he could feel the magic flare in response, and Murtagh threw himself at it again. Thorn! Hear me! I will not leave you like this! Why did you disgorge your Eldunarí? Thorn! I need you to answer me, please!
Once again, the magic threw him back into his own mind, and Murtagh nearly collapsed from the pain that radiated from the bond. Damn it!
If his bond with Thorn was afflicted by this strange magic, then perhaps he could directly link his mind to Thorn's. The Eldunarí was cold to the touch, and Murtagh cast his mind out to it. He pushed at the Eldunarí, using his bond to guide him down, but was stopped again by the same wall. He pushed hard against it, calling out to Thorn. When he felt no response, Murtagh sharpened his mind and struck at the wall. For a moment Murtagh felt the wall waver and he felt himself gain purchase inside of Thorn's mind.
Thorn! He called out, desperation filling him.
A surge of pain rose inside of Thorn's mind, alongside the strange magic, and they both swept Murtagh's mind past the wall he had fought to break. He retreated into his own mind, his body shaking from the shock of magic that stabbed at his mind.
I don't understand this. What is this magic? Was it something that Keres did?
The thought of the Brotherhood's leader brought forth a well of anger Murtagh had not felt in centuries. "I'm going to kill him," Murtagh said out loud, his grip tightening on Thorn's Eldunarí.
For a moment he thought he saw a flicker inside the Eldunarí apart from its regular weak pulsing, but when he searched for it, he could see nothing else.
Murtagh growled, his forehead coming down to rest against Thorn's Eldunarí. Please, Thorn. You can't leave me alone. If you're in there, I need you to say something.
Please.
For the first time in decades, Murtagh felt his eyes begin to water. Why would Galbatorix do this to us?
No answer came to him.
He sat there for a while with his brow pressed against Thorn's Eldunarí, his thoughts clouded over in his misery. Eventually he drew back, though his hands remained grasping the Eldunarí.
I'm going to kill Keres, Murtagh thought to himself, the anger that was buried inside him rising, then I'm going to kill Galbatorix for doing this to Thorn.
No, Murtagh said to himself after a moment, I need to figure out how to get Thorn back. And I need to find Keres and gets some answers. Where is Thorn's body? How did I end up here? It doesn't seem likely that Keres would just dump me here, especially with Thorn's Eldunarí.
A thought struck Murtagh. Does Keres know of the Eldunarí?
He pondered it for a moment before shaking his head. No, I do not think he does. If he did let me go, then why would he leave the Eldunarí with me? And if he didn't let me go, how did I escape? The last thing I remember is Thorn disgorging his Eldunarí and then that flash of magic.
His hand moved over the facets of the Eldunarí lightly, his fingers tracing their edges. How do I help you, Thorn? What happened to you in the warehouse? Where you turned into a Shade? Would I even know if you were one? Why are you hiding in your Eldunarí?
Murtagh sighed. He needed help, though he was loathed to admit it even to himself. I could go to the elves, Murtagh thought bitterly. They of all people would help Thorn. Though there is no guarantee that they wouldn't kill me on sight, they wouldn't let a dragon suffer like this.
His other option would be to go to the Varden and surrender to Eragon. The people of the Varden would call for his head, but Eragon might be able to stay their hand. Eragon would be willing to help, hopefully. Still, the thought made him shudder. He didn't want to surrender himself to the will of others, not after being forced to swear a binding oath to the Black King. Eragon wouldn't trust him either, not while he was still under Galbatorix's control.
That did beg the question why the King hadn't yet reached out towards him. Murtagh glanced around the grass field, unsure of where he was. Standing, Murtagh carefully held Thorn's Eldunarí in his arms as he cast his mind far and wide. For leagues he found no soul near him until he felt the distant presence of human minds to the northwest. Carefully he listened to their thoughts, though his mind was stretched thin, and he could barely make them out.
It was until he heard the whisper of the town name that Murtagh realized how far he was from Belatona.
Feinster…
How was he so far from Belatona? Unless days had passed when he was unconscious, Murtagh had travelled leagues farther than a horse could travel in the span of half a day. Based on how far away the villagers mind had been, Murtagh guessed he was some leagues north of where he knew the Varden to be.
"Damn it," Murtagh scowled. What do I do? Return to Galbatorix like a good little slave, or subject myself to capture by the Varden?
Galbatorix's reach was far, augmented by the Eldunarí he held enslaved. He should have easily been able to reach with his mind towards Murtagh and take control. Why would the King hesitate to summon him?
Maybe he thinks I'm dead. Or he doesn't yet know what happened.
If that was the case, then Murtagh needed to move quickly. He could potentially escape outside of Galbatorix's reach, or turn back to Belatona to find out what happened.
Murtagh glanced down at the Eldunarí in his hands, feeling lost. Whatever I do, I need to protect Thorn. If I take him with me to the Empire, there's a chance Keres or Galbatorix could take him from me. I could really use your help, Thorn.
Thorn's Eldunarí continued its slow pulsing, no response coming from his partner-of-mind.
The sound of faint drums to the south drew Murtagh's attention. For a moment he was unsure of the cause, and he strained his eyes as he searched. It wasn't until he saw the glint of blue and green rising above the horizon and his hand grasped at the empty air at his waist did Murtagh finally understand.
His decision had been made for him.