The witch tormented him for hours. Always she kept asking him to break or bend.
Always he refused.
But he gave her everything else she demanded. When she ordered him to agree, he agreed. When she told him to turn his head or say that the Vardenโs cause had been wrong and misguided, he obeyed. It was a trick heโd learned in Urรปโbaen. If he agreed, it bought him a slight reprieve, physically and mentally. If he was cooperative, that molli๏ฌed Bachel to a certain extent. But on the core issue, he never budged, and as much as he could, he de๏ฌected and dissembled and otherwise tried to frustrate the witchโs e๏ฌorts.
Had he not been drugged, he would have attempted to seize Bachelโs mind and make her his own servant. As it was, he could only endure.
Nor was the witch solely interested in his compliance. She questioned him about Eragon and Saphira, Arya and Fรญrnen, and speci๏ฌcally the state of Nasuadaโs realm, including the dispersion of the magicians of Du Vrangr Gata, the postings of the realmโs armies, and many other useful pieces of intelligence. Much of what she asked, Murtagh had no special knowledge of, though Bachel did not always believe him and pressed him hard on every point.
Her questions taught him two things in return. First was that Bachel seemed to think a full-scale attack on Nasuadaโs realm was not only desirable but an actual possibility.ย With what army?ย And second, that Bachel and the
Draumar were far better informed than their numbers or location seemed to indicate.ย How many sympathizers have they?
Such coherent thoughts appeared only in the brief respites between
Bachelโs attentions. Most of the time, Murtagh drifted amid a haze of pain, unable to make sense of anything but his need to escape the witchโs clutches.
Andโฆhe was scared.
The fear did not cause him to turn coward, but the more he saw of Bachelโs distorted visage, and the more he felt of her red-tipped claws, and the more her intruding consciousness pulled at the most intimate parts of his self, the greater his terror grew.
Many di๏ฌcult things Murtagh had done in his life, many shameful, bloody things, some forced upon him, some born of his own weakness, but there and then was the greatest challenge he had faced. Because unlike with Galbatorix, he could notโwouldย notโallow himself to give in. He knew what torments lay down that path, and they were worse than any physical pain.
Or so he told himself. But because of it, there was no end in sight, and that made it di๏ฌcult to sustain hope.
He tried not to think, only do what had to be done in the unfounded, perhaps futile expectation that, at some point, at some time, Bachel would tire of him and direct her cruelty elsewhere.
Nasuadaโs face often ๏ฌlled his mind, her expression sometimes soft with sympathy, other times contorted with pain and fear, and Murtagh found himself forced to remember what he had done to her in the Hall of the Soothsayer. The su๏ฌering he had in๏ฌicted was no less than what he now endured, and the knowledge made his stomach turn. There was a part of him that welcomed his torture as penance for his crimes. But no matter how great the agony, the mistakes of the past remained a testament to his failures.
Bachel noticed, for as he struggled with his memories, she brought her face close to his and studied him with cold amusement. โWhat would your queen think of you now?โ she murmured. โWould she pity you? No, I think she would be disgusted by your weakness, my helpless little princeling. โTis a
fatal weakness, one you will never recover from, unless you swear fealty to me and Azlagรปr.โ
โโฆno.โ
Her claws descended, and he screamed again.
After an endless while, the witch grew bored with him. She drew forth another crystal vial from her bodice, unstoppered it, and blew a fresh cloud of vapor upon his face.
Murtagh held his breath, but as with Thorn, the cloud clung to him, and when at last his lungs gave out, the putrid stench of brimstone clogged his nose and mouth, and the room tilted beneath him, and everything that was solid seemed insubstantial.
Save for Bachel. She retained her sense of substance. Her face grew impossibly large as she leaned over him and said, โWe shall try again tomorrow, Kingkiller. Let that knowledge ๏ฌll your thoughts. In the meantime, may the Breath of Azlagรปr bring you wisdom through dream, and dreaming shall you ๏ฌnd your way.โ
Her face receded. โTake him to the well before you return him to his chamber. His smell o๏ฌends me.โ
โAs you wish, Speaker,โ replied a man from beyond Murtaghโs vision.
Then the witch swept out of the room, and unseen hands removed the manacles from Murtaghโs wrists and ankles. They dragged him through the building, and for a time, all Murtagh was aware of were the bumping of his legs across the stone ๏ฌoor, the strain in his arms and shoulders, and the bobbing of his head, which made him queasy.
Blood dripped from his body. Less than he had feared, but any was unwelcome.
Icy water poured over the back of his neck. The shock cleared his mind somewhat. He gasped and looked around; he was sitting by the well outside the temple, and the two cultists were tossing buckets of water upon him. Then they dragged him into the temple courtyard.
Thorn was there. Heavy iron chains bound the dragon to the ๏ฌagstones, while his muzzle was wrapped with thick leather thongs, and his wings were
pinned to his side by rounds of rope. Tar-like blood streaked the rucked membranes.
Murtaghโs heart lurched. He felt as if there were words that needed saying and actions that needed doing, but he could not stir his limbs.
He stared at Thorn, and Thorn at himโthe dragonโs ruby eyes dull, defeated, dimmed by drugs or magic or some combination thereof. There was a sadness to his expression that struck Murtagh to the core, even in the extremes of his own distress, and he struggled to break the grip of his captors, but he could do no more than weakly thrash.
โNone of that now,โ said one of the cultists.
Across the yard, Alรญn appearedโwhite-robed and pale-facedโamong the temple columns. She seemed stricken by the sight of him and Thorn, though Murtagh could not understand why. For an instant, he thought she was about to speak, but then his captors turned and dragged him toward the templeโs small side door, and the moment passed.
 |
Murtagh landed on his side with a painful impact, and the cell door closed behind him with aย clang.
He lay on his crumpled cloak for a long while, trying to gather the
pieces of himself well enough to make sense of the world.
Despite his e๏ฌorts otherwise, his eyes slid shutโฆ.
He was sitting on a throneโฆTHE throne: the same black and gold monstrosity Galbatorix had held court from. Thorn was to his left, and on the polished marble ๏ฌoor before them knelt Eragon, head bowed so his face was concealed, his hair the same mess of tousled brown locks Murtagh remembered. There were raw red marks around Eragonโs wrists, andโwith the certainty found only in dreamsโMurtagh knew that he had broken Eragon, and that Eragon was his to command even as Murtagh had been Galbatorixโs.
Past Eragon were the kneeling forms of Arya, the dwarf king Orik, andโฆ Nasuada. As with Eragon, their faces were turned toward the ๏ฌoor. All save for Nasuada. She looked at him with an expression of fearful devotion, and he knew that
she too was his to command, and that even more than the others, she was a slave to his word.
Farther still stood endless ranks of soldiers: humans in their mail shirts and padded gambesons; elves garbed in woodland colors, with elegant bows in hand and long, graceful swords at their hips; dwarves with hammers and pikes, and battalions of spearmen mounted on Feldรปnost, the proud-footed mountain goats of the Beors; and Urgals too, with their crudely fashioned weapons, Urgals of human height and others towering ten, twelve feet in totalโKull, huge, muscular, terrifying.
And he knew that every soldier owed him fealty, and that he could order them onto the ๏ฌeld of battle, and they would die for him to the last.
Murtagh felt power to be his, and he welcomed the sense of control. With it, he could do what was rightโwhat was neededโand, more important, he could keep Thorn and himself safe. No one could command or enslave them if they ruled the land. How simple. How direct. Why had he never thought about it before? No longer would he have to wrestle with the question of whether to keep apart from the doings of Alagaรซsia. By assuming his rightful place on the throne, he could sidestep the problem, and everyone in the realm might become a part of him, rather than he a part of them.
He smiled as he beheld his dominion. For the ๏ฌrst time in his life, he felt as if he had found his place.
At the end of the impossibly large audience chamber, a trefoil window allowed for a view westward, and framed in it, a black sun descendedโฆ.
|
โMurtagh-manโฆCan you hear me?โฆWake now, humanโฆ. Human?โ
The dark arch of the stone ceiling was the ๏ฌrst thing Murtagh saw. He blinked and stirred. Every muscle in his body felt sore and strained; heโd pulled against the manacles with all his might, and he was paying the price for it now. Tomorrow would be worse.
Dried blood cracked on his chest as he rolled to his knees. His mind was still bleary, his wits dulled, his vision fuzzed.
On the other side of the hallway, he saw Uvek crouched by the door to the Urgalโs own enclosure, the tips of his horns touching the bars. It was di๏ฌcult to tell, but Murtagh thought the Urgal appeared, if not concerned, at least of a mind to commiserate with a fellow prisoner.
โCan you speak, Murtagh-man?โ
It took him longer than he liked to make a sound: โIโโ
Footsteps echoed o๏ฌ the walls, approaching. Dread ๏ฌlled Murtagh, and he scooted back, away from the door to his cell. Opposite him, Uvek silently withdrew until he was hidden within shadow.
Then Murtagh saw Alรญn sweep down the hallway. She stopped before his cell and stared at him, her cheeks as pale as her robe. Her eyebrows narrowed, and her lips pressed together, and she trembled slightly, as if racked by a powerful passion.
She knelt and placed a wooden plate in his cell, along with a small pitcher of what smelled like watered wine. The plate held bread and hard cheese and several strips of smoked bergenhed.
Again she stood. She smoothed the front of her robe, and Murtagh noticed that her hands were shaking. Then she turned and ran from his cell, and her robe ๏ฌapped like a pennant in the wind.
โYou have friend, Murtagh-man.โ Uvekโs rumbling voice preceded him as the Urgal emerged from the shadows.
โโฆMaybe.โ Sudden hungerโravenous, burning, unbearableโsent Murtagh scrabbling forward to tear at the bread and cheese. His own hands were no more steady than Alรญnโs. Whether she was a friend or not, the unmistakable ๏ฌavor of brandy tainted the food sheโd broughtโthe dreaded drug vorgethan. For a moment, he considered forgoing the food, but he was desperately weak. If he did not eat, he knew his will would desert him entirely. To survive, he had to force down the very poison that kept him imprisoned.
โThe witch treated you roughly,โ said Uvek.
It wasnโt a question. Looking at him again, Murtagh saw a kindness in the Urgalโs expression that he had never before encountered among Uvekโs race. An image came to Murtagh, so bright and strong that he felt as if he
were looking upon another time and placeโan image of Uvek sitting on a high mountain ridge, near a scraggled, windblown pineโฆsitting hunched over a single blue ๏ฌower, wan and delicate, a thoughtful expression on his face.
Murtagh shook his head. The Breath and the vorgethan were making reality as thin as a threadbare curtain, as if he could peek through a frayed hole and see what otherwise would be hidden.
โWhat does she want from you, Murtagh-man?โ
โSheโฆโ He coughed. Flakes of dried blood fell to the ๏ฌoor. โShe wants me to swear fealty to her and to join the Draumar.โ
Uvek tilted his head. The tip of one horn tapped the bars of his cell. โShe wants same from me.โ
โBut she doesnโt torture you.โ
โNot since they capture you. I think she ๏ฌnd you more interesting.โ โLucky me.โ Murtagh drank deeply of the watered wine and then started
in on the smoked bergenhed. As he chewed, he studied Uvek. โWhy does Bachel seek your fealty?โ
โThe Draumar seek fealty from all who cross path.โ
Murtagh shook his head again. He was having trouble summoning the words he needed. โYes, butโฆNo. Whyโฆwhyย you?โ
โBecause I was one they could ๏ฌnd.โ
That still wasnโt what Murtagh wanted to know, but expressing himself was too di๏ฌcult, so he grunted and focused on eating.
When the food was gone, he leaned back and rested his head against the cold stone of the cell, closing his eyes while he tried to strengthen the thin, nearly indetectable umbilical cord that joined him and Thorn. Uvek watched the whole while, but Murtagh didnโt care. There was plenty of iron separating him from the Urgal, and besides, he didnโt feel threatened by Uvekโฆthough he felt sure that Uvek was capable of great violence when the occasion called for it.
Murtagh found little success with Thorn. All he could discern were indistinct emotions, none of them pleasant. Full thoughts and words still proved impossible to exchange. In any case, Murtaghโs mind kept wandering,
and he noticed himself slipping in and out of awareness, as if the world were divided into short sections of consciousness, brief ๏ฌashes of lucidity, and the rest madness, or worse, nonexistence.
Yet throughout, his mind kept returning to Nasuada, and the horrible intimacy of their time together in the Hall of the Soothsayer. His shame swelled, and with it, his respect for her. That she had resisted Galbatorix and endured for so long now seemed miraculous to Murtagh. He wasnโt sure how she had managed. Nor how she had recovered. He feared he wasnโt as strong.
He was nearly asleepโor lost in a fugue state that resembled sleepโ when Uvek said, โMurtagh-man, why did you and Thorn-dragon come to Nal Gorgoth?โ
โWanted toโฆ๏ฌnd outโฆwho Bachelโฆbrimstoneโฆstone.โ โHow did Draumar catch you? Was when earth shook?โ
It was too di๏ฌcult to explain in full. โNoโฆgot carelessโฆafter feastโฆโ
He heard Uvek shift, and the Urgal made an angry sound. โFeast! How long you been in Nal Gorgoth, Murtagh-man?โ
โTwoโฆtwo days.โ
โWhy not kill Draumar when you could?โ
Murtagh forced his eyes open. โโฆwas curious. Important to know before act.โ
Uvekโs beetled brow smoothed, and then his heavy head moved up and down. โAh. That wise, Murtagh-man.ย But now you trapped like Uvek. Would have been better act sooner, save much pain, muchโฆโ
His voice faded into oblivion as Murtaghโs eyes rolled back, and he fell away from the cell, down, down, down, through endless black, into the harsh visions of promised dreams.
