Murtagh

Murtagh faltered then, and the words again grew difficult. Yet he persisted. He spoke unsparingly of the village, and Bachel, and his mistakes that resulted in the witch ensnaring and imprisoning both him and Thorn.

He made no attempt to hide what had happened to them while in Bachel’s thrall. He told Nasuada every sordid detail, and as he spoke of their torture, she placed her hand on his, and the understanding in her eyes caused him even more pain than his recollection.

“You must hate me for what I did to you,” he said in a thick voice.

“At first, but only at first. It wasn’t your choice.”

He squeezed her fingers, a silent thanks. Still, his guilt remained. “I don’t know how you endured. I…I couldn’t.”

“It helped to know you cared.”

Tears again filled his eyes, and he looked out the window, unable to bear Nasuada’s gaze. “She broke me. And there was nothing I could do about it. I…” His voice hitched, and his throat tightened like a clenched fist.

Then he spoke of the raid on the Orthroc. The images that filled his head were worse than any nightmare, and when he attempted to explain whom he had slain—attempted to describe the fallen bodies, large and small—his emotions burst forth, and he wept openly, without shame.

Nasuada stirred, and he felt her hand upon the back of his head, and he bent toward her as his grief ran its course. She held him, and her presence was a balm for his soul.

In time, he found the strength to continue.

***

“Do you think that the creature you felt was Azlagûr?”

They were sitting by the dormer window, looking out over a small atrium with an ash tree growing in the center and an artful stream that wound among beds of perennials. Rock doves roosted among the branches of the ash, and a cheeky red-tailed squirrel ran up and down the trunk, chattering at every movement above and below.

After speaking for so long, Murtagh couldn’t bear to remain in the bed, so they had moved to the sill, next to Thorn. Murtagh’s legs had been stiff and weak, but Nasuada had helped him, without comment, by wrapping an arm tight around his waist.

Her scent was completely different from the stench of brimstone: sweet and clean and healthy. It made it hard for him to concentrate.

“I don’t know. If nothing else, I believe it was what the Draumar believe to be Azlagûr.”

Nasuada looked out over the walls of the atrium toward the western horizon. The sun was setting, and the buildings of Ilirea cast long shadows back toward the citadel. The serenity of the city stood in stark contrast to how it had last appeared to him: covered in smoke, lit with fire, and echoing with the discordant clamor of battle. Not unlike his final visions of Nal Gorgoth….

“Do you think you killed it?” she asked.

“I hope so, but…I fear not.”

She looked back at him, and he saw his concern mirrored in her eyes. “How could a creature so large go undiscovered for so long?”

“I’m not sure it has. The Draumar know of it, and the dragons too, it seems. Some of them, at least.” He scratched his beard. It was getting longer than he liked. “I need to talk with Eragon, to warn him. And I want to question Umaroth and find out exactly what he and the other Eldunarí know. I’d ask you to send a courier on my behalf, but I wouldn’t trust this to a scroll or to someone’s mind. Besides, a courier would be too slow, and— No, once I’m fit, Thorn and I will go to Mount Arngor.”

“That may not be necessary.”

“Oh?”

Nasuada gestured toward the main part of the citadel. “Before he left, Eragon enchanted a scrying mirror, that I might communicate with him more easily than by courier. He did the same for all the kings and queens of the land.”

Murtagh allowed himself a rueful smile. “Of course he did. He’s getting clever, that one…. Have you spoken to him of me?”

“Not since you arrived.”

He nodded. “I see. Well, perhaps your mirror will suffice. I would prefer to avoid having to fly all the way out to Arngor. Not if this creature is loose in Alagaësia.”

Concern darkened her expression. “How great a threat do you really think it is?”

“I don’t know, but…” He shook his head. “If even half of what I saw is true, Azlagûr may be more dangerous than Galbatorix ever was.”

Nasuada pressed her lips together, and for a few minutes, they watched the sunset in silence. She, of all people, had a true understanding of Galbatorix’s cruelty and depravity, and she had witnessed firsthand the staggering extent of his power. The king had humbled them all. It was only through the greatest of luck—and not a little skill—that they had overcome him.

She turned to Thorn. “What of you? Did you feel anything of this Azlagûr?”

No. I was too busy razing Nal Gorgoth, and by the time I found Murtagh, the caves were empty of all but vermin.