Murtagh

Murtagh shook himself and brought his attention back to the village below. Ostensibly a treaty had been signed between Urgals, humans, and elves—and indeed, Eragon had even added the Urgals to the pact that joined Riders and dragons (though the thought of an Urgal Rider still gave Murtagh pause). But whether word of the treaty had reached this isolated village was an open question.

How do you think they would react if we showed ourselves? he asked Thorn.

Amusement colored the dragon’s thoughts. They would all want to fight you, to prove themselves.

Probably. Part of Murtagh was tempted. He held no love for the Urgals—he still had nightmares about the chieftain, and about fighting hordes of Urgals during the Battle of Farthen Dûr—but he was curious. If there was one thing the past few years had taught him, it was the importance of knowing and understanding both himself and the world around him. And he didn’t feel as if he had a good understanding of the Urgals. Recognizing his own curiosity surprised him. He really would be willing to sit down and talk with an Urgal, despite the atrocities they’d committed throughout the land. After all, he’d committed his own share of violence.

At the realization, some of the tension eased from his muscles, and he loosened his grip on the front of the saddle. The Urgals were dangerous enough, it was true, but so were he and Thorn. It did not mean they were not worthy of investigation.

A thread of acrid smoke streamed back from Thorn’s nostrils and passed over him. The dragon said, I would roast them with fire and eat them if they attacked us.

Eat an Urgal? Really? I can’t imagine they would taste very good. Besides, they’re not animals.

Thorn snorted and turned back toward the bay. They are meat. Meat is good.

Once again, Murtagh was reminded of the differences between them. He made no attempt to hide his revulsion. Would you eat a human as well?

Indifference was Thorn’s response. If I did not like them. Why would I not?

Because it’s wrong. You might as well be a Ra’zac, then!

A sharp hiss came from Thorn. Do not compare me to those foul creatures. I am a dragon, not a carrion picker.

Then don’t act like one. Promise me you won’t eat any humans, elves, or Urgals. For my sake.

Hmph. Fine.

It was, Murtagh reflected, not without reason the elves had forged the initial bond between themselves and the dragons. He frowned as he thought of all the dragon eggs Eragon had taken to Mount Arngor. Some of them were enchanted that the younglings inside might bond with Riders, but the rest were wild dragons, unbound and free to act as they would. How well would those wild dragons fit into Alagaësia once they were old enough to return?

***

As the day progressed, a thick layer of clouds formed, low enough to clip the peaks of the mountains. It forced Thorn to fly closer to the ground than he preferred, lest they should overlook the village of the Dreamers.

Before night fell, they spotted three more Urgal settlements hidden among the folds of the mountains. Murtagh had always thought Urgals lived in caves. So he’d been told growing up. It was strange to learn that they had humanlike towns. How many of them are there? he said.

Enough for the army he raised, said Thorn.

Murtagh nodded. It was true. The horde that had attacked Tronjheim had been the equal of any army in the land. Which meant the Urgals were far more numerous than commonly believed. They’ve done well since the fall of the Riders.

Will we have to drive them out?

Only if they make a nuisance of themselves again. Eragon thinks he can keep them as allies, but…

You don’t agree?

I don’t know. Eragon sometimes has a good feel for such things, but he’s also rather simpleminded when it comes to the realities of war and politics. At least, he used to be.

They landed for the night by a small mountain stream that poured into the Bay of Fundor. As Murtagh made camp, an unfamiliar roar startled him.