Murtagh

“She’s going to hate me for this.” Tornac’s eyes wandered, and then his gaze sharpened again, and for a moment, he was as lucid as Murtagh ever remembered. “Go. You have to go, blast you. Take my charm and leave me. I’m done. Go and be free and forget…me….” A harsh rattle sounded in his chest, and his body went limp, and the gleam faded from his eyes.

Then Murtagh wept, and he was not ashamed.

…

A disjunction, and Murtagh once again found himself cowering on the desolate plain, at the end of all things, with the black sun rippling with tendrils of black flame while the monstrous, mountainous, humpbacked dragon rose wingless against the horizon, blotting out light and hope.

…

Another disjunction. A field of golden grass blanketed the gentle curve of a hill. Standing amid the grass was Nasuada clad in a dress of red velvet. She turned to look back at him, and she held out her hand toward him, but her expression was sorrowful, and no matter how he reached for her, he could not close the distance.

Then the sky darkened, and the sun lost its luster, and land and sky both became the color of tarnished pewter. Tears traced lines down Nasuada’s cheeks, but he felt them on his own, hot with regret and the pain of parting.

Stars pricked the blackened sky, and a sense of impending and unavoidable doom hollowed out his chest. And far in the distance, a humped mass stirred along the horizon and began to ascend to eat the guttering sun….

***

Murtagh woke covered in cold sweat, disoriented, uncertain of what was real and what wasn’t, and yet consumed by a sudden conviction that time was desperately short.

The clash of chimes and bells and brazen cymbals sounded outside the temple, loud enough that the commotion filtered through the stones of the building. And wild, barbaric cries too, as if the entire village had gone mad.

Across the hall, half-shadowed Uvek looked out with a grim, heavy-lined expression. “Time of black smoke has arrived, Murtagh-man.”

Fear spurred Murtagh to action. He pawed through his cloak until he felt the yellow diamond hidden within the hem. Where was the charm Uvek had given him? Where? Where? Where? For a moment, he couldn’t remember. Then he recalled: tucked deep in his left boot.

He grasped the charm and reached for the energy stored in the diamond. The swirling vortex tickled his brain, tantalizingly close. He could almost touch it. The drug vorgethan must have been nearly purged from his body, but try though he might, he couldn’t quite unlock the flow of energy.

Clang!

The unseen door at the end of the hall opened, and boots tromped toward the cells. Cultists come to fetch him.

Murtagh yanked his hand out of his boot and stood. He cursed to himself. He’d been too slow. Time had run out. Now he had to face whatever the Draumar had planned.

Black smoke. Black sun. Doom.

CHAPTER XXII Black Smoke

“Are ye going to th’ festival?” asked one of the cultists, a red-bearded dwarf who leered at Murtagh through the bars of his cell. “ ’Course you are, Kingkiller. ’Course you are.”

The dwarf and the man who was his companion dragged Murtagh from his confinement. Murtagh put up no resistance. Until he could move and think of his own accord, he was at Bachel’s mercy…and she possessed precious little of that particular virtue.

Uvek remained squatting and watching as the cultists removed Murtagh, and Murtagh gave no look or sign of acknowledgment to the Urgal. Best the Draumar did not know they had even spoken.