Murtagh

“Do we, now?” But Murtagh pulled his cloak to one side and sat. He leaned his staff against his right knee, where he could grab it in an instant. “Might I ask why you seized my letter and gift? I have broken no law and caused no trouble.”

“That is the wrong question. You should instead ask how I knew to seize your letter and gift. The page’s master is Lord Relgin’s chamberlain, and the page told him of the strange man offering coin to speak with Ilenna Erithsdaughter. No doubt the chamberlain rewarded him far in excess of your bribe.”

Murtagh winced. He should have quizzed the page more closely. “And the chamberlain then came to you. I see, but—”

“Not quite,” said Carabel. “The chamberlain went to Lord Relgin, and Lord Relgin dispatched a number of his men to apprehend you, O Tornac. Most unusual. Such court intrigues are usually beneath Relgin.”

So the soldiers had been after him. A sour taste formed in Murtagh’s mouth. It seemed like he wouldn’t be getting near Ilenna anytime soon. He put the thought aside. That wasn’t his immediate problem. “I admit, I am confused, Lady Carabel. Did Lord Relgin tell you all this? If so, why bring me here in defiance of him? And why should any of you highborn folk care about my doings? I am no one of importance.”

Carabel licked the points of her teeth. Her tongue was small and pink. “That’s not exactly true, now is it…Murtagh son of Morzan?”

***

A coal popped in the fireplace, startlingly loud.

Murtagh felt his eyes narrow. He gripped the staff, ready to fight. “How did you find out?”

A cruel little smile curved Carabel’s dark lips. It unsettled him to think how often they touched raw meat and blood. “The name Tornac is not unknown to us werecats, human. Besides, you smell of dragon.”

Her explanation did nothing to ease his mind. “All right,” he said. “What do you want?”

A frown pinched Carabel’s delicate features, and a dark aspect settled upon her face. “A question for you first, human. What business had you with Ilenna Erithsdaughter?”

Had. Murtagh didn’t like her use of the past tense. He affected an abashed look. “In truth, no business. It is a private matter between us. I’m sure you understand.”

Again Carabel paused. She’s uncertain, he realized. Why? He decided to take the initiative. “Is there a problem with Ilenna? Has something happened to her?”

The tufts on Carabel’s ears swayed as she shook her head. “Ilenna is unharmed. The problem lies…elsewhere. I will ask you again, Murtagh son of Morzan. What business had you with her?”

“Am I speaking to you or to Lord Relgin?”

She inspected the nails on her left hand, holding them up to the light so the tips gleamed red-gold from the flames. “Werecats answer to no one but ourselves. You speak to me and me alone.”

“And him.” Murtagh jerked a thumb back over his shoulder.

A slight purr escaped Carabel. “Bertolf is trusted.”

“Maybe by you.” Murtagh adjusted his grip on the staff. “Why should I tell you, werecat? There’s nothing you can do to stop me from leaving.”

Carabel’s slitted pupils constricted. If her tail had been present, he thought it would have twitched. “No, but you want information, human. Why else would you wish to talk with Ilenna? Oh yes, I know of her family’s activities. Great clumsy oafs they are. Not like cats. But I can promise you this: there is no way you can speak to Ilenna or her father without Lord Relgin finding out. If you don’t mind revealing yourself, then go to them. Leave now. But I think you prefer to remain hidden, you and your dragon.”

Murtagh turned his staff in his hand. What was the werecat getting at? He felt as if he were fighting a duel and he was two steps behind his opponent.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said. “You still haven’t given me a reason why I should share anything with you.”

Carabel’s thin shoulders rose and fell. “If it is secrets you seek, then who better to ask than a cat? Ask of me, Murtagh son of Morzan, and if I do not know, I will speak to Ilenna on your behalf.”

“You’re offering to help me,” said Murtagh, wary.

Her eyelids lowered until they were half closed, and she nestled in on herself, as if to brace against inclement wind. “I am.”

“In exchange for what?”

She blinked. “The smallest of favors.”

In an instant, things became clear to Murtagh. A cynical laugh escaped him. “Of course. And what is this smallest of favors?”

The werecat lifted her pointed chin, defiant. “A task that needs doing, and none there are in Gil’ead who can do it, save you.”

“Somehow I doubt that.” He frowned at her; she was trying to manipulate him. “I’m not your errand boy, cat. No one gets to order me about. Not you, not Relgin, not even Nasuada.”

“I would not think to tell a Dragon Rider what to do. This is an offer, not a command.”

Murtagh growled and ran his fingers through his hair. “And what is it you need doing?”

“You will agree to it?”

“That depends on the nature of the task and whether or not you have the answers I seek.”