Murtagh

No. His letter to Nasuada would have to suffice, and he had to believe that she would have the wherewithal to navigate the dangers that beset her. He comforted himself with the knowledge that she was more cunning and capable than most.

Still, it was difficult to accept the change in his and Thorn’s situation. For one shining moment, he had thought another path lay before them. But now Murtagh realized it had been an impossible dream. They would never be able to clear their name and attain a position of good standing among the peoples of the land. That way was forever closed.

Would Nasuada think they had turned against her? He hated to imagine her feeling betrayed. The public accounts of their escape from Gil’ead would confirm the worst aspects of his and Thorn’s reputation. He could only hope that his letter would help Nasuada to understand that more was at play than was first apparent.

Murtagh drank again.

He wondered if perhaps it would be better to take Thorn farther east, to Mount Arngor, where Eragon and Saphira had established the new home of the Dragon Riders. There, Thorn would be able to live with others of his kind, far from any places where he might cause more harm. And he could receive such instruction from elves and Eldunarí as had been traditional for dragons in their order, and which Galbatorix had denied Thorn.

But Murtagh didn’t want to give up. Bachel needed dealing with. And he didn’t want to give Eragon the satisfaction of acknowledging his authority. Most of all, Murtagh didn’t want to admit to the world that he or Thorn needed anyone else’s help. His stance was sheer stubborn pride, but he could not bring himself to show their weakness to the world. Weakness was dangerous; weakness allowed others to hurt and exploit you. Weakness was the first step on the path to death.

Thorn sensed something of what he was thinking, for he said, I will go where you want to go. As long as we are together, I am content.

Murtagh nodded and stoppered the waterskin. “That’s good, because we can’t stay here or anywhere in Nasuada’s realm.”

I am sorry.

Murtagh avoided Thorn’s gaze and did his best to bury his discomfort. “It is what it is.” He replaced the waterskin in the bag. “Still, we’re outcasts now, even more than before. Exiles. We’ll have to stick to the wilds, keep our distance from settled spaces.”

We can fly together from here on? Just us? No more anthill cities?

“Yes, we can fly together. And no more cities.”

Thorn swallowed the deer’s head and licked clean his chops. Having eaten, he seemed calmer, more alert. What of you? Tell me of Gil’ead. How went things with Silna and Carabel? And how did you end up caught in a tangle box?

“I got careless,” said Murtagh. He started pulling from the bags what he needed for his own dinner. He would have to do some hunting for himself if he wanted anything to eat tomorrow.

As he worked, he shared his memories with Thorn, starting with how he’d gained admittance to Captain Wren’s company. When he came to the arcane garden and explained to Thorn about the Ra’zac egg, the dragon snorted with enough force to singe the ground with a finger of flame from each nostril.

Vermin! I had hoped we had seen the last of them.

“I know,” said Murtagh. He blew on the newly birthed flame of the fire he was building. “Eragon did the land a favor when he rid us of them.”

The priests of Helgrind will be seeking to restore the Ra’zac to their previous glory.

At that, Murtagh gave a short laugh. “I can’t see how they could. Soon there will be dragons throughout Alagaësia. No Lethrblaka could survive here.” The Lethrblaka were the adult form of the Ra’zac: hideous flying monsters more akin to bats than dragons.

A Ra’zac might still work plenty of mischief before reaching full growth. Especially if a magician forces it to serve their will.

For a moment, Murtagh contemplated returning to Gil’ead with the express purpose of destroying the Ra’zac egg, but then he berated himself for the stupidity of the idea. Aside from the danger, Captain Wren or Arven would surely have moved everything of value from the chambers under the barracks.

He patted the pouch along his belt. The compendium was still there, as was—when he reached farther down—the yellow diamond hidden in the corner of his cloak.