Murtagh

He thought for a moment on how best to answer. Then: “Alagaësia is far wider and wilder than you can imagine. There are mountains so high their peaks vanish from sight. Vast deserts where dragons used to live. Forests so old no memory remains of their birth. And there are cities too: large and small, and peoples of all sorts. Humans and elves and dwarves and Urgals. Even werecats. And so, so much more.”

A hint of wistfulness might have appeared in Alín’s expression, but it was difficult to tell for sure in the dark hallway. “And what do they dream of, all those people?”

Murtagh watched to see what effect his words had. “Every person dreams their own dreams. Some are frightening or unpleasant. Some are beautiful and hopeful. Some are silly or nonsense. They differ for every person.”

“Even for you?”

“Why would they not?”

“Because,” she said, seeming confused, “you are a Rider.”

He felt equally confounded. “What does being a Rider have to do with the dreams I have?”

Alín frowned. “Surely you must know, my Lord. You are joined with a dragon, and dragons are the blood and bones of the land. They are the source of everything that was and is and shall be. I thought that, because of your bond with Thorn, that…”

“You thought what?” Murtagh asked gently.

“That you would have the same dreams as we do in Nal Gorgoth.”

“Does everyone here dream the same, Alín?”

She turned back to the door. “It is the one thing I cannot bear. The dreadful sameness, night after night. The dreams so rarely change.”

Then she pushed open the door and stepped out before Murtagh could ask another question.

***

Thorn gave Murtagh a welcoming nudge as they came together in the courtyard. He scratched Thorn’s snout in response.

Then he became aware that Alín was standing behind him with her hands clasped and her gaze fixed on the flagstones, her whole body stiff as if she were terrified. But when she stole a glance at Thorn, her eyes shone, and he realized that she was overawed by Thorn’s presence.

“Have you ever seen a dragon before?” he asked.

She shook her head, keeping her gaze turned down. “No, my Lord. He is magnificent.”

I like her, said Thorn.

You would. Would you mind if I—

You may.

With a small smile, Murtagh said, “If you want, you may come closer.”

Alín gasped and looked up with undisguised joy. “Oh! Yes, please. I mean, thank you, my Lord.” With careful steps, she approached Thorn.

She squeaked as Thorn arched his neck and loomed over her, a puff of smoke jetting out from his nostrils.

Murtagh smirked. You’re as dramatic as a troubadour.

Thorn ignored him and lowered his head until he was at eye level with Alín. She stood very still, but her expression was wide and shining, and the tips of her fingers trembled.

“He won’t hurt you,” Murtagh said.

Alín laughed with febrile energy. “It would not matter if he did. I would be honored. It is not every day you meet a living god.”

Murtagh felt his eyebrows rise. He gave Thorn a look. “Do you hear that? A living god, she says.”

The dragon surprised him then, for Murtagh felt Thorn extend his mind until it contacted Alín’s, and for a fraction of a second, the three of them were joined. Murtagh had a brief impression of Alín’s inner self: a sense of warmth and wonder and overwhelming radiance.

Then Thorn withdrew the connection, and Alín cried out and fell to her knees.

Murtagh went to her, meaning to help. At the last moment, he remembered not to touch and stopped with his hands hovering on either side of her shoulders. He retreated a step. “Are you all right?”

It was a long moment before she stirred and looked up, tears on her cheeks. “I never thought to be so blessed,” she whispered. She turned back to Thorn and bowed her head. “Thank you. Thank you. A thousand thanks upon you.”

Murtagh wasn’t sure how to respond. He watched as she gathered herself and stood. “Bachel will send for you soon,” she said, her voice as thin and pale as a winter sky. “Be ready to attend her. She does not stand for delay.”

“No, I would imagine not,” said Murtagh.

Alín gave Thorn one last look—her expression suddenly troubled—and then fled into the temple.

Without her, the courtyard seemed cold and empty.

Murtagh turned back to Thorn. He frowned. “Why?”

With a scrape of scales against stone, Thorn wound his neck around Murtagh and trapped him in a great coil. It seemed appropriate.

“Because she said you were magnificent?”

Thorn coughed. No. Because she has been told much but seen little. I was like that once. It is good to know the truth of things.

At that, Murtagh’s stance softened. “I suppose you’re right.” Thorn hummed, and Murtagh scratched his snout again. “Well, as long as she didn’t see anything about last night, there’s no harm done.”

And perhaps some good.

“Perhaps.”