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Chapter no 19 – Duel of Wits

Murtagh (The Inheritance Cycle, #5)

Murtagh kept careful track of the streets as Lyreth hurried him through the city. If he had to run, he wanted to know exactly where he was.

Lyreth brought him to a small stone houseโ€”one of the few all-stone structures in Gilโ€™eadโ€”tucked away in the corner of a square that was surrounded by cramped log-built dwellings jammed cheek by jowl. The ground was dirt, and there was a watering trough in the center for horses. The whole place felt dark, sheltered, and somewhat decrepit, and the only other living creature to be seen was a bedraggled rooster pecking at the dried mud outside what looked to be a candlemakerโ€™s shop.

Lyreth used an iron key to unlock the front door of the stone house, and then he waved Murtagh in. โ€œQuickly, quickly now.โ€

Waryโ€”and somewhat curiousโ€”Murtagh entered. As dangerous as the situation was, his desire to know was stronger than his sense of self-preservation. Howย wereย the former members of Galbatorixโ€™s nobility surviving? In a di๏ฌ€erent set of circumstances, he knewย heย would have been the one hiding like a rabbit trying to escape a hungry hawk.

The buildingโ€™s shabby face belied its luxurious interior. Dwarven rugs covered the tiled ๏ฌ‚oor. Carved balustrades lined a marble staircase that climbed to a second story. Dramatic portraits hung on the wallsโ€”portraits that were too detailed, too lifelike, to have been created without the help of

magic. A gold and silver chandelier hung from the wood-braced ceiling, and cut gems dangled from the chandelier in a rainbow of tears.

โ€œThis way,โ€ said Lyreth, leading Murtagh past the anteroom into a modestly sized but beautifully decorated dining hall. Silken tapestries depicting battles between dragons, elves, and humans adorned the walls, and the candlesticks on the long table looked to be solid gold.

โ€œPlease, make yourself comfortable.โ€ Lyreth gestured at a velvet-backed chair at one end of the table.

Murtagh counted thirteen chairs around the table, including his own.

The number gave him a cold chill of realization.

He took o๏ฌ€ his bedroll and set it down by the table, close at hand. Then he gathered his cloak and sat. โ€œWhat is this place?โ€ he asked. He suspected he already knew the answer.

โ€œA place of safety,โ€ Lyreth said, seating himself. He waved at the guards, and two of them took up posts by the entrance while the others ๏ฌled out of the hall. โ€œFormora had it built as a sanctuary from Galbatorix if ever the need arose. Alsoโ€โ€”he indicated the chairsโ€”โ€œas a location where the Forsworn could meet in private, away from the kingโ€™s prying eyes.โ€

Formora. She had been an elf, and one of Galbatorixโ€™s favorites among the Forsworn. By all accounts, she had been cunning, cruel, and capricious to the extreme, even as measured by the standards of her fellow traitors. Murtagh remembered Lord Varis telling him that, when she was provoked, her habit had been to cut her foes apart with magic, piece by pieceโ€ฆwhile keeping them alive for as long as possible. That, and she had been overly fond of candied fruits.

Murtagh glanced around the room. Heโ€™d heard of such places before. Secret hiding holes where the Forsworn could protect themselves, if not from the king, then at least from the kingโ€™s other servants. Galbatorixโ€™s followersโ€”willing or otherwiseโ€”were hardly known for their cooperative nature, and the king had encouraged their backstabbing and bloody machinations with often undisguised glee. The walls of the house would be laced with powerful wards, and more than wards: traps that would far exceed

the strength and complexity of those he had encountered in the catacombs. The whole structure was probably riddled with charged gems.

โ€œWere they ever truly free of Galbatorixโ€™s gaze?โ€ Murtagh said.

Lyreth shrugged. โ€œWere any of us?โ€ He clicked his ๏ฌngers, and a manservant in a ๏ฌne woolen coat hurried into the hall, his polished bootheels tapping a precise tempo against the hard ๏ฌ‚oor. The man placed a silver platter on the table and o๏ฌ„oaded a decanter of cut crystal, a bottle of wine, two gold goblets, and a tiered tray of assorted delicacies: sweetmeats, aspic with candied fruit, bite-sized berry pies, and what looked to Murtagh like honey-glazed pastries.

His mouth watered. It had been well over a year since heโ€™d tasted anything resembling proper ๏ฌne food, and he found himself suddenly nostalgic for the ๏ฌ‚avors of his childhood.

The servant poured the wine, and then brought Murtagh one of the goblets as well as the tray of delicacies so that he might make his own selection.

Murtagh took some of the aspic, a berry pie, and two honey-glazed pastries. The servant then attended to Lyreth, who selected a sweetmeat and nothing more.

โ€œYou may go,โ€ said Lyreth, and the servant bowed and retired from the room.

A honey-glazed pastry was halfway to Murtaghโ€™s mouth when thoughts of poison and spells stayed his hand. Lyreth noticed and, in an o๏ฌ€hand manner, said, โ€œThe food is safe, if youโ€™re wondering. The wine too.โ€ And he gave Murtagh a crooked smile before taking a sip from his own goblet.

Murtagh deliberated for a moment and then popped the pastry into his mouth. It melted with sweet, buttered deliciousness, and he fought to keep his pleasure from showing.

โ€œMy family acquired this place some years ago,โ€ said Lyreth, nibbling at the sweetmeat on his plate. โ€œWe kept it as a safeguard against exactly this sort of eventuality.โ€

โ€œMmm.โ€ Murtagh tasted the wine; he recognized the vintage. A red grown in the vineyards of the south, near Aroughs, bottled near ๏ฌfty years

ago. He doubted more than a few dozen bottles remained in the land. โ€œYou honor me,โ€ he said, raising the goblet.

Lyreth shrugged. โ€œWhat good does it do to hoard ๏ฌne wine in these trying times? We might all be dead tomorrow.โ€

โ€œAs you say.โ€ Murtagh took another carefully controlled sip as he studied Lyreth. The man appeared to have been under considerable stress (and understandably so); he was thinner than Murtagh remembered, and his skin had the unhealthy pallor of an invalid con๏ฌned to bed. Seeing him the worse for wear was the source of some satisfaction for Murtagh, although, despite himself, he empathized with Lyreth and the di๏ฌƒculties he must have faced since Galbatorixโ€™s fall. It couldnโ€™t be easy, living every day in fear of being caught out.

โ€œYou smell of ๏ฌsh,โ€ said Lyreth abruptly. โ€œBaths are hard to come by on the road.โ€

โ€œWere you responsible for killing Muckmaw? Itโ€™s all my guards have been able to talk about since yesterday. I thought it might have been you.โ€

Murtagh toyed with the stem of his goblet as he considered how to answer. The conversation was a duel for information, and they both knew it, but the unspoken reality was that Lyreth held no power over him. If Murtagh wanted to leave, or to attack, there was little the other man could do about it. โ€œI may have played a part in the matter.โ€

Lyreth made an unimpressed sound. โ€œYouโ€™ve certainly managed to stir up the local peasantry. They seem to think Eragon himself is wandering the land, curing their ills.โ€

โ€œIf only.โ€

At that, Lyreth made a face and took a deep qua๏ฌ€ of his wine. โ€œBlasted Rider.โ€

Murtagh could feel Thornโ€™s ongoing concern.ย Peace, he said to the dragon.ย I have his measure.

And it was true. Murtagh had had ample opportunity to study Lyreth and the group of eldest sons he associated with at court. To the last, they had been arrogant, cruel, overcon๏ฌdent, and yet also deeply insecure. There was no such thing as safety around Galbatorix, and their parents had all been

born to power and in๏ฌ‚uence, or else had acquired it through cunning and savagery. None of which bred kindness in their o๏ฌ€spring. Murtagh had always been the outcast of their generation: the only known child of the Forsworn; ostensibly ignored by Galbatorix during his childhood, yet still understood to be favored by the king; groomed for power and yet powerless himself, with Galbatorix holding his fatherโ€™s estate in his stead until he came of age. Added to that, Murtaghโ€™s own distrust and inexperience when it came to navigating the treacherous currents of power, and he had been both an object of fear and a ๏ฌgure of scorn and ridicule that they had used poorly however they could. Only once Tornac took him under his wing had Murtagh begun to learn how to defend himself, in more ways than one.

He ate a spoonful of aspic. Of Lyreth, he had no fond memories. Two experiences remained in Murtaghโ€™s mind as emblematic of the man. The ๏ฌrst was when Lyreth and a number of other boys had set out to steal cherries from Lord Barstโ€™s private garden in the citadel at Urรปโ€™baen. Murtagh had tagged along, hoping that they might let him be part of the group. Theyโ€™d barely started picking the cherries when one of Barstโ€™s men discovered them and held them at spearpoint. All of them save Lyreth, who managed to slip away, only to return a few minutes later, leading Lord Barst and loudly declaiming the misbehavior of the other boys.

Despite their noble lineage, Barst proceeded to thrash the lot of them. But he spared Lyreth, which earned the young noble no end of hate from the other boys, although most of them were devious enough to hide their true feelings. Lyrethโ€™s family was too wealthy and well placed to openly oppose.

The second incident had been on Murtaghโ€™s ๏ฌfteenth birthday. No one save Tornac had seemed to mark the signi๏ฌcance of the day, but somehow word must have gotten out in the court, probably from the pages. How else to explain that, on that day of all days, as Murtagh climbed the narrow spiral staircase that led to his chambers, a group of boys had ambushed him and beaten him and left him bruised and bleeding on the sharp stone steps?

The attackers had worn party masks of a type common at court, but Murtagh could guess their names regardless. And as the ๏ฌsts and feet had

pummeled his sides, heโ€™d heard a semi-familiar voice cry,ย โ€œThatโ€™s it! Get him! Knock him down!โ€ย And he knew the voice as Lyrethโ€™s.

None of the boys ever admitted what they had done. They continued to treat him the same as ever about the citadel, and the only hint of acknowledgment was several snide comments made when they saw him limping the next day: โ€œHa! What happened? Did a horse step on your foot? Murtagh Crookshank! Ha!โ€

Murtagh had never forgotten. Nor forgiven.

He eyed the decorations in the hall. Despite the houseโ€™s rich appointments, he guessed Lyreth found the place uncomfortably con๏ฌning. For one who had grown up in the citadel in Urรปโ€™baen and on Lord Thavenโ€™s vast holdings, living in such a small house would feel like being locked in a closet.

He must be going mad trapped in here, Murtagh thought.

โ€œHow fares your father?โ€ he asked. What he didnโ€™t say was,ย Is Thaven still alive?

Lyrethโ€™s expression remained studiously ๏ฌ‚at. โ€œAs well as could be expected.โ€

โ€œOf course. In these trying times.โ€ That earned him a twitch of annoyance from Lyreth.ย Good. The more he could needle the man, the more Lyreth was likely to slip and say something he shouldnโ€™t. โ€œThe Empire couldnโ€™t last forever,โ€ said Murtagh. โ€œAt some point Galbatorix was bound to fall. It was inevitable.โ€

โ€œMaybe,โ€ said Lyreth with undisguised bitterness. โ€œBut it didnโ€™t have to happen during our lives.โ€

โ€œNo, but thatโ€™s not ours to say, is it?โ€

Lyreth opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again and said, โ€œWere you there? At the end? Whenโ€ฆheย died?โ€

โ€œI was.โ€

The manโ€™s gaze ๏ฌ‚icked toward him from under bloodless lids. His eyes were grey blue, like distant thunderheads. โ€œHow was it done? Iโ€™ve heard con๏ฌ‚icting accounts.โ€

โ€œWith kindness.โ€

โ€œYou mock me.โ€ โ€œNot at all.โ€

A faint frown formed on Lyrethโ€™s brow. โ€œHim?ย Kindness? Thatโ€™s preโ€”โ€ โ€œYou never were the brightest,โ€ Murtagh said in an uninterested tone.

โ€œCunning, that Iโ€™ll give you. Determined, even. But not very bright.โ€

Lyreth inhaled through pinched nostrils. โ€œKeep your secrets, then. Iโ€™ll learn the truth of it regardless. Tell me this, at least, if you would soย kindlyย deign. How did you and that dragon of yours escape Urรปโ€™baen? Both Eragon and Arya were there, I understand. Surely they tried to stop you.โ€

โ€œDo you really expect me to explain?โ€ said Murtagh. โ€œWould it help you to know the spells I used? Or the dangers we braved? Does any of that matter? Su๏ฌƒce it to say, we escaped, and at no small risk.โ€ The truth, of course, was nothing so dramatic. He and Thorn had simplyโ€ฆleft. They had played their part in toppling Galbatorixโ€”Eragon never would have been able to work magic on the king if Murtagh hadnโ€™t used the Name of Names to break the kingโ€™s spellsโ€”and after, neither Eragon nor Murtagh had the stomach to continue ๏ฌghting.

Not for the ๏ฌrst time, Murtagh re๏ฌ‚ected on the fact that if he had been in Eragonโ€™s place, he wouldnโ€™t have thought to forceย empathyย on Galbatorix. It wasnโ€™t part of his nature. Perhaps that was a failing of hisโ€”Murtagh was willing to admit it wasโ€”but he didnโ€™t feel that his lack of charity toward Galbatorix was wrong, not given what the king had done to him and Thorn.

He placed the small pie in his mouth and chewed, enjoying the ๏ฌ‚avors of blueberries and blackberries admixed.

Lyreth shifted in his seat, as if there were burrs pricking him from beneath. โ€œAnd since then? What have you been up to, Murtagh? Wild stories have reached my ears. Tales of a red dragon seen here or there. Whispers of magic that only a Rider or an elf might be capable of casting.โ€

With the ๏ฌne linen napkin from by his plate, Murtagh dabbed the corners of his mouth, brushing crumbs o๏ฌ€ his stubble. โ€œThorn and I have been traveling the land, seeing what there is to see. What of you and your family, Lyreth? How have you managed since Galbatorix fell?โ€

โ€œWell enough,โ€ Lyreth muttered.

โ€œNo doubt. But how long can you continue to live in hiding? Eventually someone will realize who you are. You would be best served to surrender and cast yourself on the queenโ€™s mercy. Sheย doesย show mercy on occasion, or so Iโ€™m told.โ€

โ€œDonโ€™t speak to me of that pu๏ฌ€ed-up pretender. Sheโ€™s a commoner, without a drop of noble blood in her veins, not from any of the proper families nor from the old lineages of the Broddrings.โ€

โ€œThose who conquer, rule,โ€ said Murtagh calmly. โ€œSo it has always been.

You forget your history if you think otherwise.โ€

โ€œI forgetย nothing.โ€ A feverish gleam appeared in Lyrethโ€™s otherwise insipid eyes. โ€œYouโ€™re right, though, Murtagh. The current state of a๏ฌ€airs canโ€™t continue. My family arenโ€™t the only ones hiding. A number of the most powerful noblesโ€”men and women whose names you would recognizeโ€” have been biding their time, consolidating their positions for when the moment is ripe.โ€

โ€œRipe for what?โ€

Lyreth leaned forward, suddenly animated. โ€œWhatย areย you doing here, Murtagh? Muckmaw dead, and all of Gilโ€™ead in a commotion. What is it? Are you raising troops? Killing Nasuadaโ€™s lieutenants? What?โ€

โ€œYouโ€™ve grown obvious, Lyreth,โ€ said Murtagh in a lazy tone. โ€œYou wouldnโ€™t have lasted a week at court like this.โ€

โ€œBah.โ€ Lyreth waved his hand and sank back in his chair. โ€œEvents are afoot, and directness is needed. If you are too cautious, the prize shall go to anotherโ€ฆ. Youย couldย take the throne, Murtagh. You know that, yes? And all the great families would rally to your bannerโ€ฆthose of us who still have some standing, that is. Hamlin and Tharos were fools. They couldnโ€™t wait, they couldnโ€™t gather the army they needed, and so their rebellions failed. Hamlin ended up with his head on a pike outside these very walls, and Tharos will spend the rest of his life in Nasuadaโ€™s dungeons. Unlessโ€ฆโ€

Murtagh cocked his head. Nothing Lyreth said was particularly surprising, although the implications were far from pleasant. โ€œAre you really so eager to return to the days of Galbatorix, Lyreth? Would you see me

raised above you, to rule in perpetuity, undying and unchanging? Is that really your wish?โ€

โ€œIt would be better than what we have now!โ€

You mean, it would free you from hiding and again place your family in a position of power.

A sly expression formed on Lyrethโ€™s face. โ€œBesides, think of the advantages for you, Murtagh. I know you always chafed under Galbatorixโ€™s strictures. Were the crown yours, you could rule as you see ๏ฌt, with our men and gold as your bulwark. And it would be good for our kind. Nasuada cannot hold her own against Arya. A Dragon Rider as queen of the elves, who ever heard of such nonsense? Eragon is a threat as well. Heโ€™s building a force of Riders out in the east. Once theyโ€™re grown and trained, who can stand against him? Only you, Murtagh. And I know there is no love lost between the two of you.โ€

The pretense to intimacy made Murtagh bristle. โ€œOh you do, do you?โ€ โ€œI know it to be true. Come, Murtagh. What say you? All of the Empire

could be yours. And more too. Galbatorix should never have su๏ฌ€ered Surda to exist. You could break them and unite this land in a way that has never been done before. All of humanity gathered under a single standard. Then the elves might fear us, and the dwarves too.โ€

The wine and the delicacies no longer sat so well within Murtaghโ€™s stomach. The future Lyreth described was more tempting than Murtagh wanted to admit. Were he to claim the throne, few could challenge him or Thorn, and neither Eragon nor Arya would be eager to again plunge the land into war. They would tolerate his existence and, in time, perhaps come to respect his authority. In one fell swoop, he could restore glory to his familyโ€™s name and secure power such to protect Thorn and himself against all but the most dangerous of foes.

But in order to elevate himself like that, he would have to depose Nasuada, and her fate thereafter could only be exile, imprisonment, or death. And that he could not countenance.ย Then I would truly be known as a betrayer, he thought. Not just to the common folk, but to the one person, besides Thorn, who fully trusted him. Nasuada was the very reason heโ€™d

been able to break free of his bondage and help topple Galbatorix. To then act against herโ€ฆNo. It was unthinkable.

He let the idea go, and he felt no regret.

Lyreth ๏ฌdgeted, seemingly on tenterhooks as he waited.

Instead of replying directly, Murtagh decided to unbalance the other man, to step sideways when a forward step was expected. From the pouch on his belt, he produced the bird-skull amulet heโ€™d found in Ceunon. He placed it on the table and slid it to the other end.

โ€œHave you seen one of these before?โ€

Lyreth picked up the amulet with fore๏ฌnger and thumb and held it dangling before him, much as Carabel had done. He showed no reaction aside from bland curiosity, but Murtagh wondered if, perhaps, there was a ๏ฌ‚icker of some emotion in the manโ€™s eyes. For a moment, Murtagh debated touching Lyrethโ€™s mind, but there was no way for such an action to be interpreted as anything but an attack. In any case, as with all the children of nobility, Lyreth had been raised with extensive training on how to protect his thoughts from eavesdroppers or intruders. Success was not guaranteed even if Murtagh tried, not unless he were willing to totally break Lyrethโ€™s mind.

It might be worth it, he thought. Lyreth and his family posed no small threat to Nasuada and the stability of her realm. If Murtagh could do something about itโ€ฆ

He licked his lips, muscles tightening in anticipation of action. A few quick words, a barrage of mental violence, and he would have complete control over everyone in the house.

Surely he knows that. The thought gave Murtagh sudden pause. Whyย wasย Lyreth willing to take such an enormous risk?

Lyreth dropped the amulet on the table. โ€œWhat a barbaric creation. I canโ€™t say I have, and Iโ€™m glad of it tooโ€ฆ. But you have yet to answer me, Murtagh. Come now, what will it be? The crown, or a lifetime of skulking in the shadows until the queenโ€™s pet magicians hunt you down like a rabid dog?โ€

Murtagh smiled slightly as he rolled the wine in the goblet, studying his distorted re๏ฌ‚ection. โ€œNeither,โ€ he said, gathering his will in preparation to attack. He lifted his gaze to meet Lyrethโ€™s storm-cloud eyes. โ€œI walk alone these days, Lyreth. Thorn and I answer to no man, and we will not be beholden to anyone, least of all your family. But Iย willย know the truth of what youโ€™re planning.โ€

Lyrethโ€™s expression didnโ€™t change, as if Murtagh had done no more than make a passing comment on the weather. โ€œYou never did know your place,โ€ he said.

A powerful itch kindled in the middle of Murtaghโ€™s palm. He opened his mouthโ€”

Lyrethโ€™s ๏ฌnger pressed against the edge of the table.

Clunk!ย The ๏ฌ‚oor dropped out beneath Murtagh, the room tilted like a pinwheel, and his stomach lurched as he plummeted into blinding darkness.

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