Murtagh

Cold blackness washed over Murtagh, and the cave tilted around him as he collapsed, unconscious.

CHAPTER IV Islingr

A deep, grinding rumble and the sound of uprushing smoke were the first things Murtagh was aware of.

Then pain, and a cold so intense it went to his marrow, and an immense weakness. He needed food and drink and time to recover. None of which he was about to get.

He opened his eyes. The domed ceiling was dark with smoke. It had thickened since he’d passed out.

Setting his teeth, he rolled onto his right side—where it hurt less—and pushed himself into a kneeling position.

He looked at what remained of Bachel: her lower half pinned beneath the crystalline rubble, her neck twisted at an unnatural angle, Ithring still embedded in her skull, honey eyes wide and lifeless. He felt nothing, thought nothing, only looked at what he had done. It was important.

From far above, he felt Thorn touch his mind, a distant yet urgent contact. As Murtagh’s strength ebbed, their thoughts merged, and for an instant, the differences between them dissolved, and he beheld the world as did Thorn:

The two-leg-nest turned below as he dipped his wings toward the fang-tooth-sunset-mountains. Many of the stone-wood-shells were broken and on hot-tongue-fire, and the flames cast flickering shadows on the surrounding hills. White-eye-crows screamed, and goats too, and a steady stream of bad-dream-two-legs fled on foot along the banks of the clear-water, heading toward the Bay of Fundor. His wings hurt from many arrow-bite-holes, but the pain was of no matter.

Concern came from Thorn. The dragon gave him a plea and a command cojoined: Heal yourself!

I—

Another rumble shook Murtagh, and from the hole in the center of the cave came sounds as rock being crushed and broken. Apprehension gathered in him, and it occurred to him that haste might be called for.

Getting to his feet took a concentrated effort of mind and body, and he nearly fainted again as he rose. He stood for a moment, swaying, until his vision cleared and his balance steadied. He’d dropped his shield at some point. Picking it up seemed more trouble than it was worth.

The eleven Draumar lay on the other side of the hole, their bodies fallen like broken dolls amid the broad, oil-slick splay of blood. There too lay Alín, still motionless.

Murtagh! Thorn’s frustration was palpable.

“Can’t. Alín. Have to…”

Pressing a hand against his wound, he stumbled over to the witch. He braced his left foot against her head and pulled on Ithring. The blade stuck, and he had to yank twice more.

Distaste and pity made Murtagh turn away from her remains. “May you dream forever,” he muttered.

More grinding sounded from beneath the hole, and another jet of black smoke shot up through the opening.

With halting steps, he made his way around to Alín. He let out a cry as he dropped to a knee next to her and the jolt sent pain through his side.

Blood matted the woman’s hair, but she still breathed.

Murtagh placed Ithring on the ground and pressed his palm against Alín’s head. “Waíse heill,” he whispered.

His vision flickered as the spell took effect. He swayed and fell sideways, barely catching himself before his head hit stone. His eyes drifted shut.

…

Air whistled past his head as he dove toward burnt-black-ground, legs tucked close to chest and belly. He landed with a crash of thunder. The horned-two-leg-no-sword turned to look at him, surprised, afraid.

Help.

Horned-two-leg understood and ran to him. Climbed onto his back.

He wolf-ran toward foot of grey-rock-mountain.

…

Murtagh started as he came to, disoriented.

By his knees, Alín moaned, and her eyelids fluttered.

More sounds of crashing stone emanated from the hole, as if the mountain were gnawing itself to pieces, and there was a great grinding commotion painful to hear.

The ground shuddered beneath Murtagh as he grasped Ithring and forced himself to his feet. He coughed. Gobs of blood sprayed forth, wet and sticky.

He wanted to also heal himself, but he had not the strength. Not yet. But he knew that if he did not attend to his stab wound soon, he would lose the opportunity.