Murtagh

Every meal thereafter, Alín brought Murtagh food free of vorgethan. He had hoped that his body might purge the drug within a few hours, but to his aggravation and disappointment, the process was far slower.

Other cultists continued to feed Uvek, and the Urgal remained under the effects of the vorgethan. Murtagh asked Alín if she could help Uvek as well, but she shook her head and explained that a man by the name of Isvar prepared Uvek’s food, and that Isvar had been specially appointed by Bachel and would not surrender the honor.

So they waited, and every few minutes that Murtagh was awake, he tried to access the energy in the yellow diamond, that he might transfer it into the blackstone charm. At some point, he had to succeed. The question was whether that would happen before the time of the black smoke.

He was growing increasingly concerned about the festival. From certain fragments he overheard, it seemed to him that Bachel was planning something particularly dramatic, and he worried that her plan would involve him and Thorn.

Even though Murtagh was no longer receiving the vorgethan, his mind felt as clouded as ever. The witch continued to use the Breath on him whenever they met, and the stench of the swirling miasma never seemed to leave his nostrils.

The following morning, Murtagh noticed that a goodly portion of Bachel’s guests were departing. They gathered in the courtyard on their fine horses, carrying their colorful pennants, and they saluted Bachel. The man Murtagh felt he ought to recognize said, “Fare thee well, Bachel. We shall send you tidings of our plans ere long.”

The witch picked at the rim of her dented goblet. “ ’Twere best if you stayed for the time of the black smoke.”

The grim-faced man inclined his head. “We’ll leave such things to you and your followers.” He looked at Murtagh with an expression of mild disgust. “And to whatever you have made of him.”

“Ah, but I and my companions shall stay and keep you company, most honorable Bachel,” said Lyreth. He stood at one corner of the courtyard along with four other men. They all had ruddy cheeks, as if from drink.

Bachel did not seem impressed. To the first man, she smiled and gestured, as if giving permission. “Go, then, and safe sailing upon your journey. Let the culmination of our plans arrive most swiftly.”

“My Lady.”

And with that, the group trotted out of Nal Gorgoth, heading for the Bay of Fundor and the ship Murtagh knew was docked thereat.

***

With every hour that passed, Murtagh felt as if his body were becoming lighter, more responsive. Unfortunately, his mind failed to follow suit. Every thought took work, and it was difficult to hold on to one for any length of time. And yet he could tell that the drug vorgethan was slowly working its way out of his limbs.

But not fast enough for his liking. The villagers were growing more excited by the prospect of their festival; even the heavy-browed Grieve seemed enlivened.

Bachel dismissed Murtagh early that day, as she was preoccupied with preparations for the festival. He didn’t mind. The less he saw of the witch, the better.

Once back in his cell, he did not sit or lie down. Despite his sluggish mind, he forced himself to stand and pace. Movement, as Tornac had told him, always cleared the blood. So he moved, with the hope of speeding the passage of the vorgethan from his veins.

Uvek watched with impassive patience. Only once did he ask if Murtagh had succeeded with the diamond. Aside from that, the Urgal seemed content to wait. Seeing him squatting in his cell, the flickering light casting deep shadows from Uvek’s horns, Murtagh could imagine the Urgal situated in a high mountain cave, as still and silent as a statue, an oracle waiting for the faithful to flock to his feet.

And still, Murtagh paced.

He was getting close to being able to access the energy in the diamond. He could feel it: a delicate tickle, like an itch high in his nose. If only…

A noise at the head of the hallway. Alín, bringing him his evening meal. Bread, a soup of boar meat, and watered wine.

Before she left, he said, “…wait…can you bring me…my sword, Zar’roc?”

She shook her head, hair hiding her face. “I can’t,” she whispered.

“…where?”

“Bachel keeps your sword and armor in the temple, in her presence chamber.”

That made sense. He nodded slowly. “I’m nearly…free. Can you…help ready Thorn?…water…food…saddle…shackles?”

She hesitated. The hair still covered her face, and she made no move to brush it aside. Soft as a falling petal, she said, “I will try, Kingkiller.”

“…thank…you…. We could use…supplies of…our…own…as well.”

Again a pause, and then she turned away and departed.

Murtagh remained where he was, watching.

“She still uncertain, Murtagh-man.” It was the first thing the Urgal had said in hours.

Murtagh grunted as he lowered himself onto the stones. “She’ll do…what’s right.”

Uvek’s head swung from side to side. “Depends on what she thinks is right.”