Murtagh

A coil of tension formed in Murtagh’s chest. He’d hoped he was wrong. He’d hoped the whispers and warnings had meant nothing…. Beware the deeps, and tread not where the ground grows black and brittle and the air smells of brimstone, for in those places evil lurks. So the ancient dragon Umaroth had said to him ere he and Thorn had left on their self-imposed exile.

Murtagh had prayed that Umaroth was mistaken, that there wasn’t some new danger rising in the unsettled regions of the land.

He should have known better than to question the wisdom of a dragon as old as Umaroth.

Without taking his gaze off the rock, he said, “What exactly is that?”

Sarros lifted his shoulders. “Suspicions of shadows are all I have, but you sought the unusual, the out-of-place, and that there doesn’t fit in the normal frame.”

“Were there more, or…”

Sarros nodded. “I am told. A whole field scattered with stones.”

The coil tightened in Murtagh’s chest. “Black and burnt?”

“As if seared by fire, but with no sign of flame or smoke.”

Essie said, “Where is it from?”

Sarros smiled, and the girl shied back. As with so many of the horse folk from the central plains of Alagaësia, Sarros’s teeth were filed to points.

For Murtagh, the sight was an unpleasant reminder of another, even less pleasant man with similar teeth. Durza.

“Well now,” said Sarros, “that there is the nub of it, youngling. Yes indeed.” Murtagh reached for the rock, and Sarros dropped a hand over the shiny chunk, caging it behind his fingers. “No,” he said. “Coin first, Wanderer.”

Displeased, Murtagh fished out a small leather pouch from the inner pocket of his cloak. The pouch clinked as he put it on the table.

Sarros’s jagged smile widened. He tugged loose the pouch’s drawstring to reveal a gleam of gold coins inside. Essie sucked in a sharp breath. Murtagh doubted she’d ever seen a whole crown before.

“Half now,” said Murtagh. “And the rest when you tell me where you found that.” He poked the rock with the tip of a finger.

A strange choking sound came from Sarros. Laughter. Then he said, “Oh no, Wanderer. No indeed. I think instead you should give us the rest of your coin, and perhaps then we’ll let you keep your head.”

Across the common room, the fur-clad men slipped hands under their cloaks, and Murtagh saw the hilts of swords, half hidden beneath.

He wasn’t surprised, but he was disappointed. Was Sarros really breaking their deal for nothing more than greed?

How common.

Essie spotted the swords, and her eyes widened. Blast. Before Murtagh could intervene, she leaned forward and was about to say or do something loud when Sarros drew a thin-bladed knife and pressed it against her throat.

“Ah-ah,” he said. “Not a peep from you, youngling, or I’ll open your throat from stem to stern.”

CHAPTER III Fork and Blade

The loaded spring in Murtagh’s chest felt fit to burst. At that moment, he ceased to think of Sarros as a person. Rather, the man became a thing, a problem to be solved, quickly and without hesitation.

Essie froze at the touch of the trader’s knife. It was the smartest action she could have taken.

A spike of distant concern reached Murtagh as Thorn prepared to fly to his aid. Murtagh responded with a fierce No! Don’t! The last thing he needed was for the dragon to come barging into Ceunon.

Doing his best to keep his emotions hidden, Murtagh said, “Why the turn of face, Sarros? I’m paying you good money.”

“Yesss. That’s the point.” Sarros leaned in closer, lips pulled wide. His breath stank of rotting meat. “If you are willing to pay thiswise-much for hints and rumors, then you must have more coin than sense. Much more coin.”

Stupid, Murtagh thought. He should have realized that spreading around so much gold might cause a problem. It wasn’t a mistake he would make again.

The truth was, he’d already spent nearly all of the coin he’d brought with him when he and Thorn fled into the wilderness. He’d been greedy for information, and now that gluttonous desire was costing him more than money.

He muttered a single, harsh curse and then said, “This isn’t a fight you want. Tell me the location, take the gold you’re owed, and no one has to get hurt.”

“What fight?” Sarros cackled. “You have no sword on you. We are seven, and you are one. The coin is ours whether you wish it or not.” The steel bit a tiny amount into Essie’s neck, and she tensed. “See? I make the choice easy for you, Wanderer. Hand over the rest of your gold, or the youngling here will pay with blood.”

The girl kept her eyes fixed on Murtagh. He could feel her desperate fear, and he knew she was waiting—hoping—for him to help her. She seemed so terribly young, so terribly vulnerable, and an overpowering affinity welled up within him.

Resolve girded him.