I wanted to eat the ๏ฌsh, Thorn complained as they circled over Gilโead.
I know, but there would have been no easy way to keep those men from wagging their jaws about you all across Gilโead.
Who would believe them?
Murtagh chuckled, despite himself.ย Fair point. Still, do you really want to eat a ๏ฌsh that Durza meddled with?
Thorn hu๏ฌed.ย No magic can survive the belly of a dragon.ย Maybe youโre right, but better not to test it.
Should you warn those men?
If theyโre so foolish as to eat Muckmaw, and they start growing antlers on their heads or somesuch, they have only themselves to blame. None of which seemed very likely to Murtagh.
Mmh. Well, I will need to hunt soon. My hunger grows.ย After we leave Gilโead, you can eat all the deer you want.
They landed several miles from the city, by the edge of a small stream. There, Murtagh scrubbed the dirt and slime from his hands and face. Every inch of his body felt disgustingly ๏ฌlthy.
Unhappy with the result, he stripped and washed again, this time sparing no skin.
He stood on the bank of the stream, bare as the day he was born, and looked to Gilโead. Whipcords of smoke rose from the lights and lanterns and chimneys within the city, and they spread as they rose until they merged into
a di๏ฌuse lens of ashen haze that hung over the assembled buildings. The lights below painted the bottom of the haze a sullen orange, as if the sky itself were a banked ๏ฌre smoldering through the night.
Murtagh wanted to return with Muckmawโs head then and there, but he knew if he went banging on the doors of Captain Wrenโs garrison in the middle of the night, they were as like to throw him out as let him in. It was a risk he didnโt want to take when losing might mean Silnaโs life.
โI hate to wait,โ he said. โMaybe I couldโโ
No. Thorn slapped the ground with his tail, and somewhere a sleepy crow uttered an outraged squawk. Murtagh blinked, surprised, and turned to look Thorn in the face.ย You sleep. You need sleep. Sleep now.
โWhat if they move Silna, though? We might neverโโ
The dayโs hunting is done. If you go, youโll step wrong, get hurtโmore hurt.
Rest will help you hunt better.
Murtagh sighed and let his head fall back. โI know. I just hate to waste any time.โ
His head vibrated as Thorn hummed.ย It is not waste if it helps.
A wry smile formed on Murtaghโs face. โYouโre wiser than you look, for a big lizard.โ
Thorn nudged him with his snout.ย And youโre as stubborn as you look. โYouโre right. But not tonight. Tonight Iโll bend my knee to your
learned advice.โ Thorn snorted.
The night cold returned Murtaghโs attention to the task at hand. He submerged his clothes in the creek and left them soaking there, weighted down with stones. Then he wrapped himself in his blanket and sat huddled against Thornโs warm belly while he ate one of his few remaining dried apples. His teeth chattered between bites.
When he ๏ฌnished, he and Thorn went to speak their true names, as was their nightly ritual. Thorn named himself ๏ฌrst and without di๏ฌculty, but when Murtagh tried to do likewise, he found himself unable. Something felt amiss with his name as it had been, and thus he could not speak it, for to speak it would have been a falsehood in the ancient language.
Thorn waited patiently. It was not the ๏ฌrst time this had happened. On occasion, one or the other of themโor bothโhad changed, and that change was re๏ฌected in their names. Were it a small di๏ฌerence, new understanding was often quick to come. But when a fundamental part of their selves shiftedโas it had in Urรปโbaen, when they broke free of Galbatorixโthen understanding could be elusive and hard-fought.
Tired as he was, Murtagh had little stomach for introspection. All the same, he persisted. It was important to the two of them that they maintained a full sense of their selves.
So he thought. He had a suspicion as to the cause of his di๏ฌculty, and when he noticed he was reluctant to pursue a certain line of inquiry, he knew then he was on the right path. The change had to do with Glaedrโs death, and the battle for Gilโead, and all the lives that had been lost therein. For them, he felt a greater sense of remorse, and for himself, a greater sense of grief and shame. The realization left him diminished and far less certain about his past choices. Even though he and Thorn hadnโt been in control of their own actions at the timeโeven though theyโd been Galbatorixโs oath-bound thrallsโMurtagh realized he still felt responsible for what theyโd done. At a certain point, theย reasonsย didnโt matter. The deeds remained, and the consequences thereof, and their reality was a pain greater than any wound.
The emotions were enough to alter the fabric of his character, if however slightly, and as a result, his true name. He gave voice to his newfound knowledge, and the sound of it was even more stark and discom๏ฌting than before.
Yet as always, Thorn listened and accepted without judgment, and for that, Murtagh was deeply grateful. Then he lay beside Thorn, and they rested close together as the cold of the night pressed in about them.
 |
Fleshless ๏ฌngers reached toward him through ๏ฌickering water. They closed around his ankles with an icy touch. He struggled to break free, but his strength had deserted him
and the bones that bound him were as hard as iron.
He couldnโt breatheโฆcouldnโt escapeโฆ.
The skeletons of the fallen soldiers rose from the torn lakebed, an army of accusers, pointing at him, reaching for him, desperate to take his warmth, his breath, his lifeโ to tear him apart and seize what they had lost and he still possessed.
Murtagh woke with a start, heart pounding. It was pitch-black beneath Thornโs wing. His skin was coated with sweat, and he felt both chilled and hot, and the back of his throat was raw and swollen.ย No, not now, he thought. Of all the times to get sickโฆAnd, of course, it happened as soon as heโd entered cities and spent time around other people.
Thorn was watching him through a slitted eye.ย If we stayed away from others, you would not have to worry about such things.
โI had the same thought,โ said Murtagh. โBut what kind of life would that be?โ
A peaceful one.
โMmh.โ He lay still for a moment and tried to decide whether it was worth closing his eyes again. It felt as if he had only gotten three or four hours of sleep. Maybe less.
He sat up and rubbed his face, conscious of every bump and bruise heโd taken the day before.
The sun will not show for some time, said Thorn.
โI know.โ Murtagh crawled out from under the dragonโs wing and looked to the east. The faintest hint of grey lightened the horizon, the ๏ฌrst presage of far-o๏ฌ dawn.
He did some ๏ฌguring on how long it would take to get Muckmawโs head to Gilโead.
Holding the blanket tight around himself, he climbed over Thornโs spiked tail andโwalking gingerly on bare feetโwent to the creek. It ran along a gravel bed, between drooping willows and clumps of wild rosebushes, and the sound of the gently ๏ฌowing water was a soothing murmur.
Despite the early hour, the trees and grass and brush were already wet with freezing dew. His breath fogged the air in front of him, and in the
crispness, he could feel winterโs impending arrival.
Murtagh rucked the blanket around his thighs and stepped into the creek. The water was like liquid ice. He grimaced as he reached down and pulled his clothes from under the rocks holding them in place.
As he returned to the bank, an aggressive chittering sounded on the other side of the creek. There, among the willows, was a large river otter with a thick brown pelt, waving its paws at him and baring its teeth. The otter chittered again and squeakedโas if o๏ฌended by Murtaghโs presenceโ and then slid into the water and swam away downstream.
Murtagh shook his head and hobbled on numb feet back to Thorn. โAdurna thrysta,โ he murmured, and water wept from the woolen shirt
and trousers, splattering the blades of grass below. He dressed in the now-dry clothes and repeated the process with his boots, which were still damp from his unexpected swim the day before.
As he forced his feet into the boots, he realized the leather had shrunk slightly, and he berated himself for not attending to them earlier. It wasnโt good to let things like that slip. If you didnโt take care of the little tasks, how could you be trusted to take care of the important responsibilities in life?
He rubbed some bear grease into the outsides of the boots, and then went to the saddlebags and dug out a dried apple and the last two strips of the jerky heโd bought before traveling to Ceunon. A warm breakfast would have been nice, but he didnโt want to lose the time, and in any case, a pair of farmhouses and associated outbuildings were dimly visible to the north. A ๏ฌre would risk attracting too much attention, even at such a desolate hour.
Murtagh didnโt mind cooking, but he never liked how long it took. He thought of all the meals heโd had growing up, when servants would bring him whatever he wanted, or when he could visit the kitchens and snare a cooked pheasant or aged beef roast and a pitcher of cool milk to wash it down.
The jerky was tediously hard. He chewed like a cow on cud and stared at the ground. With every bite, he felt worse and worse. Just swallowing hurt his throat.
You should stay, said Thorn.ย Youโll make yourself sicker if you go.
He coughed. โI know, but I canโt give up on Silna. Not now. Weโve already wasted too much time. She might not even be in Gilโead anymore.โ
What if she isnโt?
โWeโll have to track her down. Even if I have to rip the information out of someoneโs mind. Besides, if we donโt help Carabel, I have no idea how weโll ๏ฌnd Bachel.โ He made a face as he swallowed and the ๏ฌatbread scraped his raw throat.
Why donโt you use magic to heal yourself?
โBecause thereโs nothingย toย heal,โ Murtagh said peevishly. โNothingโs broken. Nothingโs bleeding. What do I ๏ฌx? The bad humors in my blood?โ
Why donโt you try?
โBecauseโฆbecause if I cast a spell without knowing what itโs supposed to do, it could consume all of my strength and kill me. You know that.โ
But you know what youโre trying to do. Youโre trying to heal your fever. Youโre trying to make your throat feel better. That.
โIโฆโ Murtagh stared helplessly at Thorn. โHavenโt you ever heard that thereโs no cure for the common cold?โ
No. A wol๏ฌsh grin split Thornโs jaws.ย You are a magician and a Rider. You speak the Name of Names and bend spells to your will. What can youย notย do?
โYour con๏ฌdence is inspiring,โ Murtagh said dryly. Still, Thorn had a point. โAll right. Iโll try. Intentย doesย matter when it comes to casting spells. Maybe thatโll do the trick.โ
Gathering his strength, Murtagh focused on himself, on his body and his growing discomfort. And he said, โWaรญse heill.โ
A gentle warmth passed through his body, and he felt a sense of lightness, as if heโd pulled o๏ฌ a corselet of mail after a hard dayโs march. His throat grew itchy, and then the itch subsided along with the warmth, leaving him feeling cool but not chilled.
His throat was, if not entirely normal, far better than before, and his fever seemed to have vanished, along with quite a few bruises and not a little of his soreness.
Murtagh rolled his shoulders, surprised. โI donโt know if it entirely worked, butโฆI do feel better.โ
See?ย said Thorn.
โYes, you were right.โ With renewed vigor, Murtagh set to gnawing on the last piece of tough ๏ฌatbread. He swallowed with some e๏ฌort. โIย reallyย want a proper loaf of bread.โ
Thorn sni๏ฌed.ย Meat is better. Why chew on burnt plants?ย โIt tastes good, thatโs why. You should try it again.โย No. It only tastes good because you put fat and salt on it.
โYou have a point. All right, fat and salt taste good. Happy?โ
Thornโs eyes glittered.ย Bring me a mountain of bacon, and I will be happy.
โIf I were king, I would,โ Murtagh muttered. Their saddlebags were looking sadly depleted, and heโd spent almost all of their coin. With an unpleasant twinge, he remembered the purse heโd taken o๏ฌ bird-chest. He pulled it out of the pouch on his belt and cataloged the contents.
It wasnโt very much. Which heโd expected. If the man had been well o๏ฌ, he wouldnโt have attempted robbery. Still, the purse contained a handful of coppers and a single silver coin, which would be plenty to replenish their supplies.
After. Silna came ๏ฌrst. Besides, what kind of a Rider would he be if he abandoned her?
He pocketed the coins and, as he did, noted theโagainโempty sheath on his belt. With some regret, he imagined his pilfered dagger lying in the mud at the bottom of the lake. โBlast it. I donโt like going anywhere unarmed.โ
He went to where Muckmawโs head lay on the ground, wrapped in the muddy remains of his cloak. The thick, ๏ฌshy stench nearly made him gag.
Murtagh grimaced as he gathered up the hem of his cloak. โAnd I just got clean.โ
He grabbed the corners of the cloak and started to pull. After a few steps, he stopped and swore. The head was too big and heavy. If he dragged it all the way back to Gilโead, heโd be completely exhausted by the time he arrivedโฆ.
โReisa,โ he murmured.
Without a sound, Muckmawโs head lifted o๏ฌ the ground, so that it hung ๏ฌoating a ๏ฌngerโs breadth above the matted grass. Murtagh waited a moment to see how much e๏ฌort the spell cost him. It felt equivalent to shouldering an overladen pack: noticeable, but not so much that he couldnโt sustain it for a fair amount of time.
He grunted. โGood enough.โ
Thorn crouched low, with a certain tightening around his eyes that Murtagh had learned was an expression of concern.ย How will you open the door that is closed?
โCarefully, I think. After our little escapade with Muckmaw, I have an unpleasant suspicion thereโs more to it than Carabel said. Of everything she asked, Iโm afraid this one might be the trickiest.โ
Even more so than Muckmaw?
Murtagh shook his head. โMuckmaw was di๏ฌcult, not tricky. This, thoughโฆI have to deal with other people, and people are hard to predict.โ
Thorn hissed.ย I donโt like being left behind. I want to help.
โWhat would you have me do? Thereโs no changing this, not unless you want to face every soldier in the cityโโ
A small tongue of red ๏ฌame jetted from Thornโs narrowly opened maw.ย I would.
Murtagh gave him a hug about the neck. โBe careful. Iโll be as fast as I can. If all goes well, we should be able to slip away without being noticed.โ
Good. And then we can ๏ฌy again and not worry about these people and their prying eyes.
โAnd then we can ๏ฌy again.โ
|
The waterskin sloshed against Murtaghโs side as he ran. Heโd learned his lesson from the previous day; he wasnโt going to be caught without water a second time.
On his back he carried his bedroll and, wrapped in the blanket, a few basic items, such as his tinderbox, pan, some food, and the other kit a
traveling soldier might be expected to have.
All part of his plan.
Behind him, Muckmawโs bundled head ๏ฌoated across the countryside, smooth as silk sliding over skin. A slight ๏ฌlm of sweat coated Murtaghโs brow. Keeping the head suspended was taking its toll, but far less than if heโd attempted to drag it through the brush by strength of limb.
The eastern sky brightened as he ran. Grey turned into pinks and yellows, and the blue shadows that lay across the land began to thin. The sun would just be rising when he arrived at Captain Wrenโs barracks, which was as he wanted.
The streets of Gilโead were still mostly empty when he reached the city outskirts, though the smell of baking bread wafted from the buildings, warm and enticing.
His stomach growled.
With a thought, Murtagh ended the spell holding up Muckmawโs head. The head fell to the ground with a wetย splosh. He staggered at the sudden pull of weight and regripped the corner of the bundled cloak.
Leaning forward, Murtagh started to drag.
As before, he avoided the main roads, making his way between ๏ฌelds and outbuildings until he was able to slip into the city proper without being seen.
A mongrel dog with reddish fur matted with mud came skulking after him, sni๏ฌng the trail of slime Muckmawโs head had left. โGo on,โ said Murtagh in a low voice. โShoo. Be gone.โ
The curโs lip quivered, and his ears ๏ฌattened.
Unwilling to risk the dog barking, Murtagh said, โEitha!โ
The mongrel uttered a small yelp-whine and ran o๏ฌ with his tail tucked between bony legs.
Murtagh shook his head.
From the cramped back garden of one house, he appropriated a small cart. He plopped Muckmawโs head into it, made sure the lump of ๏ฌsh meat was well covered by his ruined cloak, and then trundled o๏ฌ toward the fortress.
Long shadows speared westward from each building as the sun broke free of the horizon. Within seconds, the air started to warm, and a ๏ฌock of sparrows darted across the ๏ฌushed sky, chasing insects rising o๏ฌ the lakefront. Murtaghโs watchfulness sharpened as he neared the fortress; an unusual number of soldiers were moving through the city, and several elves stood by
the front gate of the stronghold.
His misadventure at Oromis and Glaedrโs barrow seemed to have put the entire garrison on high alert.
Murtagh spotted a manservant holding the reins of a white mare by the front garden of a large house. He swung across the street and said, โ โScuse me, master. Could yโ tell me where I might ๏ฌnd thโ barracks of thโ city guard?โ
The manservant eyed Murtagh and the cart with undisguised disdain. His hair was pulled into a short ponytail, and his shirt was made of ๏ฌne bleached linen, and he stood with the poised grace of a dancing instructor. He sni๏ฌed. โUp that street, on the right. Although Iโll be much surprised if theyโll speak to the likes of you.โ
Murtagh bobbed his head. โThankโee, master.โ
He continued on, feeling the servantโs eyes boring into his back until he turned the corner.
The barracks were a series of stone-sided buildings set against the fortressโs outer wall and protected with a much shorter wall around their perimeter. The entrance was a narrow gatehouse with a black oak door studded with iron nails. Two pikemen stood watch at the open door.
Through it, Murtagh could see men walking about a paved courtyard, sparring, drilling, and loosing arrows at straw targets. They were each garbed in the watchโs standard uniform: a red tabard over a padded gambeson stitched with the Vardenโs emblem.
Murtagh lifted his chin and let his stride acquire some of the regulated crispness of a marching man.ย Here goes, he thought.
The pikemen crossed their weapons as he pushed the cart to the gatehouse. He noted that their tabards were neat and in good repair, which spoke well of Captain Wrenโs command.
The two men looked more bored than concerned or aggravated by his presence. A good sign for things to come, he hoped.
โ โEy now,โ the man on the right started to say, and Murtagh whipped the cloak o๏ฌ Muckmawโs head.
The menโs eyes widened. The guard on the right whistled. He appeared a few years older than his counterpart. โWell, blow me sideways. Is that there what I think?โ
Murtagh let go of the cart and stood straight. โIt is. Muckmaw himself.โ
The guards gave each other a glance. The older man pushed back his helm and leaned over the cart for a better view. โSon of an Urgal. Itโs โim, all rightโฆ. Anโ I suppose youโre the one as caught โim, is that it?โ
โYessir. And Iโd like to join up. Sir.โ
The pikemen looked at each other again, this time more seriously. The older one rubbed his chin and said, โDonโtย sirย me. Iโm as common as dirt. Thing is, Iโm โfraid Captain Wren isnโt looking for no green recruit. Standing orders. Youโll be wanting a di๏ฌerent company. Theyโre always eager forโโ
The younger man tugged on his companionโs arm. โItโs Muckmaw, though, Sev.ย Muckmaw!โ
The elder pikeman gnawed on his lip, his expression doubtful. โI donโt know, now. The captainโs orders were plain as day. Ifโโ
Murtagh drew himself up and snapped his heels together. โIโm not green. And Iโd like to serve Captain Wren.โ
The man frowned, but then, to Murtaghโs relief, he turned to the yard and raised a hand. โOi! Gert! Over here!โ
One of the guardsmen broke away from sparring and headed toward them. Gert was heavy-shouldered, broad-handed, with the sort of determined stride that Murtagh had seen in dozens of veteran weaponmasters. He wore thick, short-cropped sideburns shot through with white, and his brow seemed permanently furrowed with exasperation at the stupidity of his troops.
As Gert reached the gatehouse, the pikeman said, โLook there. He caught Muckmaw!โ
Gertโs tangled eyebrows rose as he surveyed the slimy, gape-mouthed head. โMuckmaw, eh?โ He spat on the paving stones. โAbout time someone put an end to him. That creatureโs been a blight on the lake fer an unnaturally long time.โ
โAnโ our friend here wants to join up,โ the older pikeman said. โSays he hasย experience.โ
Gertโs scowl returned as he looked Murtagh over. โThat so. Youโve carried arms before?โ
โI have.โ โUsed them?โ โYessir.โ
Another grunt, and Gert smoothed his sideburns with one thick hand. โItโs against company policy, but any man that can kill the likes of Muckmaw is the sort of man the capโn wants in his ranks. But afore I go bothering the capโn โbout you, youโll have to prove yourself to me, Gert. The capโnโs a busy man, you see. He has no time for nonsense.โ
Murtagh nodded. โOf course. I understand.โ
โMmh. All right. Bring that stinking mess of a ๏ฌsh in here, and weโll see what youโre made of.โ The weaponmaster strode back into the yard, and after a momentโs hesitation, Murtagh picked up the handles of the cart and followed.
โLeave him there,โ said Gert, pointing to a spot just inside the gatehouse. The other guards stopped what they were doing and watched as Murtagh deposited the cart where indicated. Gert led him to one of the sparring rings made of packed dirt and retrieved two spears with padded heads from a rack
set against the inner wall of the yard.
He tossed a spear to Murtagh.
Murtagh caught it one-handed and slipped o๏ฌ his bedroll. He hadnโt trained much with spearsโthey were the main weapon of the common footmanโbut he knew the basics. He hoped that would be enough.
โRight,โ growled Gert, taking a ready stance opposite him, spear extended. โFirst position. Show me what you know.โ
Murtagh obeyed. As Gert barked out orders, he mirrored the other man. Lunge, stab, block, thrust, de๏ฌect. Advance, retreat. With every motion, he felt the bruises Muckmaw had given him. Then Gert closed the distance between them, and they battled spear against spear for a few blows. Murtagh was fast enough that he thought he didnโt totally embarrass himself, even though Gert knocked him once on the outside of his left knee.
Afterward, Gert grunted. โNot half bad. Not half good either.โ He held out a hand, and Murtagh gave him the practice spear.
โIโm better with a blade,โ said Murtagh.
Gert raised his tangled eyebrows. โUh-huh.โ He returned the spears to the rack and then picked up a pair of wooden wasters made in the style of arming swords.
The other guards started hooting and shouting:
โGet โim, Gert!โ โShow โim what for!โ
โPut a good mark on him.โ
โGive him stripes! Beat him black-anโ-blue!โ Gert handed one waster to Murtagh.
The wooden sword was lighter than Zarโroc, and shorter too, and the balance wasnโt quite the same as a real sword, but the shape was familiar, and after hefting it a few times, Murtagh felt con๏ฌdent he could use it to good e๏ฌect.
โNo head strikes,โ warned Gert, raising his waster.
โNo head strikes,โ Murtagh agreed. Neither of them was wearing a helmet. He spun the sword about in a quick ๏ฌourish.
Gert gave him no warning. The man attacked with a speed that belied his bulk, beating Murtaghโs waster and stabbing at his liver.
If the stab had landed, Murtagh knew he would have been curled up on the ground, unable to move. But it didnโt land. He parried the stab and took advantage of the resulting opening to poke Gert in the right armpit.
The man fell back a step, his expression surprised. He recovered quickly, but before he could launch a second attack, Murtagh feinted toward Gertโs left hip.
Gert moved to block, and Murtagh whipped his waster aroundโ changing directions in midairโand rapped Gert against his upper arm, near the elbow.
A series of cries went up from the onlookers.
Gert grimaced and shook his arm, and Murtagh allowed himself a quick grin. The blow hadnโt looked like much, but he knew it hurt badly.
Then Gert feinted as well and attempted a short slash across Murtaghโs ribs, although it was an obvious attempt to lure Murtagh into a disadvantaged position. The man was skilled, but nowhere near the level Murtagh was accustomed to.
He allowed the slash to fall past without blocking or parrying, and when Gert drew back in an attempt to regain position, he struck the ๏ฌat of Gertโs waster. Hard. Harder than most men should have been able to hit.
The manโs blade ๏ฌew wide, and Murtagh brought his wooden sword up, faster than the eye could see, so that the dull edge touched the side of Gertโs neck.
They stood like that, Gert breathing hard, Murtaghโs chest barely moving.ย Did I dare too much?ย Yet he also felt a ๏ฌerce satisfaction at a move well executed, at a duel well fought and won.
He lowered his waster, and the guards watching started shouting and hollering.
โI had a good teacher,โ said Murtagh. He held out the waster, hilt ๏ฌrst.
Gert shook his head with a wry expression. โThat you did, boy.โ He took the waster and returned the wooden swords to the rack. Then he looked round at the onlookers and bellowed, โWhat are ye lollygagging neโer-do-wells doing? When you can beat old Gert wโ the sword,ย thenย you can waste the day away staring at whatโs none of yer business. Back at it, or youโll have scrubbing from evening to morn.โ
He gestured to Murtagh. โYouโd best follow me. The capโn had better see you after all.โ
